The Lost Reaper

The Lost Reaper

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WpMetadataNoticeLast published Sat, Sep 10, 2022
It started with a long sleep. Darkness, violence and the barbaric world welcomed me. Confused with my identity, I still chose to be slaved under the power of my master we all called the Bishop. Like the game of chess, there is heirarchy inside the organization. The King is on the top. I'm not the queen, nor the knight, nor the rook, not even a pawn. I am outside the chessboard. I am a reaper. The only reaper in the mafia. How did I get here? Funny story. With my memory erased, the Bishop introduced me to the world. I fought with him not knowing what the opposite side's intention. He's my master and I served to protect him at all cost. But he treated me nothing like a master-slave relationship. It was more than that. Before I knew it, I fell in love. It shouldn't happen and I knew I screwed it. I got to know the Bishop, including his fears. He feared nothing but an organization who came out of nowhere. Right there, I finally knew my purpose. I needed to know the answers. I need to seek answers. I dived in the ocean of uncertainty and took the risk only to find one thing. Heather is the lost reaper. I was not inside the chessboard. I was outside, indeed. Because I am the chess player. I don't put myself as the chess pieces. A chess player plays the game and in this world, I control the game.
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Sometimes, love doesn't arrive loudly. It comes quietly-disguised as a stranger. He wasn't supposed to matter. But somehow, he became her routine, her prayers, her future. They built dreams, shared moments, and believed in a once upon a time that felt unbreakable-until one day, everything stopped. Now she's left with memories she doesn't know how to let go of, and a story that never reached its happily ever after. This is a story about unexpected love, unfinished endings, and the kind of connection that stays-even when the person doesn't. I will never stop chasing you. * * * This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

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