The Grim

Chapter One

Chapter One:

I rolled over in my feather filled bed, the silk sheets wrapping tighter around me, enveloping me into a cocoon of gold. I could see the dawn’s light, peering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, muffled by the lace curtains. My subconscious told me it was time to get up and face a day of working; my body though, argued for a few more minutes. There was a light knock on the dark wood door across the room.

“Lady Nightmare, are you awake yet?” the soft voice of my servant, Eress, echoed. I hid my head under the plush, gold silk pillow, attempting to ignore the voice that beckoned me to get out of bed. I heard the distinct click of the opening door. I would soon be forced out of my cozy cave. Suddenly the sheets were yanked away from me and I lay exposed to the cold air with only my black-and-white pajama shorts and an over-sized black tee-shirt acting as a protectant. 

“Eress!” I whined, blindly reaching for my covers again. “Can’t I have a few more minutes?” I shivered as goose bumps began to materialize on my naked arms.

“Nope, it’s time to rise and shine, Kylie.” It wasn’t Eress’s voice. No, this voice was upbeat and boyish; Argonial. I sat up quickly to see the Third Death Lord smiling down at me with his eyes twinkling in that blissful way of his.

“What the hell are you doing in my room?!” I shouted, throwing a pillow at his face—which he easily deflected. 

“Bayne wanted to get a head start on reaping today.” His voice held its excited tint.

“But I have the decent manners to wait in the living room while Eress woke her up.” I heard the First Death Lord’s voice call from the other side of my bedroom door.

I grumbled to myself as I hung my legs over the platform that held the built in mattress up. “Well, if you don’t mind Argo, can you please leave the room?” the sentence sounded polite itself, but my tone held an agitated inflection. He threw his hands up in mock surrender as he backed out of the room. I slammed the door behind him bitterly before walking over to the large walk in closet beside the clean white marble bathroom.

There are only few things I find suitable to wear when we go to the world of the living. Typically these things were just a pleated grey skirt, a simple long-sleeved black V-neck, thigh-high black socks, and old worn-out black combat boots. Of course all of this was completed with the accessory of my scythe, Alastor. The weapons of the top three Death Lords are haunted by the spirit of one greater demon; Alastor, the executioner, is mine. He guides me during battle, helping me release my power to the needed extent, his husky voice in my head the entire time. Alastor is a more formal fighter, always wanting to make the finishing like, well, an execution—an explanation for his title. Reaping is different though. It is the only time Alastor’s normally sarcastic voice becomes solemn and filled with sorrow. Reaping is our duty though. Each of the Death Lords must pass on at least two-hundred and fifty souls monthly—I’ve never dared to find out the punishment otherwise. Reaping for us is the process of which we go into the Realm of the Living; find a human that is near its decease, and end their mortal life. Their souls then go to the Realm of the Dead, a place no one knows anything about. I try not to feel emotion when I end a mortal’s life, but on occasion I get hit with a twinge of their despair. It is a terrible, hideous feeling to have.

Relax, Kylie. Alastor’s worried voice rang in my head.

I’m not scared, I thought as I pushed the thoughts of desperateness and grief out of my mind.

You’re tense, I’m not stupid y’know. His voice regained its typical cocky tone.

Whatever, I shook my head and continued to get ready, pushing Alastor’s constant vibes of concern away.