Death and the Maiden of Spring

The God of Death Chooses a Bride

At Worlds End, where the paved path disappears and becomes crooked and decrepit—rests the gates leading to the underworld. Filled with the souls of the once living, it is a kingdom of dreary tones and darkened hues. There was no trace of sunlight nor warmth of heat, for even the fires and lights of lanterns gave off a breezy chill when touched.

This dark kingdom was haunted with dreadful beauty. The minerals and precious stones of the earth glowed in shades of shadowy colors, decorating the surrounding structures and figures. This entire crepuscular world entirely belonged to him. Rivaille, God of Death. The evasive King of the Underworld would never leave his land; sometimes spending hours sitting on his throne looking down to his monochrome world. To the left laid those that suffered eternal damnation, forever re-living their punishment for all eternity— And on the right were the souls that lived in what is now their paradise; a comfortable living surrounded by the riches of the earth.

And so for years, centuries even, Rivaille lived with a cold heart. It had frozen over with the passage of time in the years of solitude. The feeling had become numb and senseless yet in the nothingness of emotion it transformed to a type of torture. A twisting and ever deepening hole continued to drill within his immortal existence. It caused him a pain that could not be felt, but only to gnaw and gnaw and gnaw and gnaw continuously without end. He winced as he gripped his hand over his chest.

There was no pain.

It was indescribable to him. No matter what he did—it wouldn’t go away.

“A heart devoid of love turns to nothing,” said an oracle one day after she examined him. She was blind with a third eye that can see beyond. After she was long gone, it left Rivaille lost in his own thoughts. It turned and turned in his mind.

And so, one day he decided to do something about it.

–

Accompanied by his servants, Isabella and Farlan, Rivaille ventured to the Celestial Palace in the sky, to consult with Erwin—god of the sun and ruler of the surface world. He was also Rivaille’s older brother.

“Ah, Levi,” Erwin called opening his arms in an embrace, “It’s been so long!”

Rivaille knocked away his outstretched arms with a sudden swing of his hand.

“Can it. And I refuse to have you call me by my informal name. You cut me a shitty deal when you gave me the underworld to take care of,” he growled.

Erwin sighed and with a sweet smile he added, “Well you have to admit that it suits you well.”

Levi was dressed black on black garments in the armor suited for a king; a steel broadsword sheathed across his back.

“So,” began Erwin once more as he had servants present them with nectar wine, “If it is not a friendly visit, then what brings you to these parts?”

Rivaille refused the wine offered to him. His steely grey eyes burned into his, “You will provide me with a wife.”

Erwin nearly choked on his wine. He coughed a bit while covering his mouth. However, there was a slight merriment in his eyes.

“And if I don’t?” he asked curiously.

“I will open the gates of hell and unleash all the perished souls to torment the living.”

Erwin placed his goblet on a nearby stand, “… well, shit.” The blonde looked pensive for a moment.

“So what will it be?” Levi pressed.

Erwin sighed this time in a more hopeless manner, “Let’s face it. You aren’t the desirable type. No deity wants to be wed to a short little god of dead things. And your personality leaves little to be desired.”