A Demon's Love.

A Reaper's Words.

Eerie gray smoke from chimney flues puffed out in billowing gusts into the midnight air, contaminating the clear navy sky with its thick smog. The town of London was desolate, the shadowy streets completely empty without a single lone wanderer. 

The autumn atmosphere was crisp, dead silent, and dense with wisps of fog. Not a single audible noise could be heard except a few wild dogs howling at the moon every once in awhile, and the loud chime of Big Ben whenever a new hour stuck. 

Like a lifeless zombie I stumbled my way throughout the mud caked grounds, swaying from side to side. I was hunched over, my spine bending forward, and with uneven steps I staggered forward, heavy breaths oozing out of my lungs. 

My seething scarlet iris's were weary, draped in lustrous hunger. I was in agony, my whole body practically contorting, and crippling due to my dire need for blood. My heart nearly pounding out of my chest, and my insides twisted together like a contortionist. 

Looking like a starving, deprived animal I smelt around, trying to find anyone who was already on the verge of death. 

Though with no such luck I continued on relentlessly, desiring blood so much, and desperately wanting to put a stop to feeling like I was being burnt alive from the insides out. 

Though a sudden high-pitched, ear-spitting scream made me become paralyzed for a moment, stopping in my tracks. That pained wail of a shriek sent a couple of birds flying, retreating into the depths of the night sky. 

As quickly as I could in my severely weakened state I went to discover who made that noise, but once I reached the certain spot where the scream came from I saw a flash of shimmering cinematic records soar up into the air in rippling strings of film. 

"James Wood, age 30, completed." I overheard the two Grim Reaper's say as they made their reports in their Death Books. 

Both were male, one with sleeked back black hair in a finely tailored dark suit, and silver glasses who's Death Scythe was a pruner. The other male was a tad bit more flamboyant with flowing long red hair, dressed in a far too small crimson coat, and who possessed pearly white pointy teeth that mimicked a sharks, his Death Scythe was that of a chainsaw. 

Slowly, I teetered my way over to them, their recent victims fresh blood wafting into my nose. 

"You, Grim Reaper's, are you finished with this person?" 

"Yes, we have completed our task." The raven haired one answered in a dull, monotone voice. 

With that I hoisted up the mans corpse by his shirt collar, and bared my fangs before plunging them deep into the nape of his neck, exuding out every last little bit of blood out. 

My pain immediately stopped, and I was back to normal again as I dropped the drained departed back down onto the damp cobblestone ground. 

Licking my lips I glanced over at the two Grim Reaper's who were still there, their presence seeming to have escaped my thoughts for a second. 

"Elsbeth Knight, I presume." The one in the black suit addressed, and now that I wasn't hurting anymore I actually recognized who they both were. 

"William T. Spears, and Grell Sutcliff." I thought. 

"Yes, sorry to disturb you two while you're on duty, but I needed blood. Nice to see you two again, William, Grell. I believe we've met once before." 

"Indeed we have, back when you were still clinging to that vulgar Demon." William rebutted, sliding his silver frames further up the bridge of his nose.