She stared blankly at me.

Oh, how my heart jumped. At last, I got to experience those eyes through my own. No more of that putrid world that surrounded her; all my attention was on her and her alone.

Having her before me was like watching a movie whose image had been upscaled. Her slender legs, shaking as a result of my frightening presence, appeared slimmer, more alluring. The pink in her lips that made the prospect of a kiss simply irresistible. The perfection of her hair, a work of nature achieved through no effort.

But oh, how brutish of me, wasting so many words lecturing about something as trifling as her body— a body that wasn’t even hers. The trepidation her timid steps revealed was far more exciting. Her head kept turning in all directions, her feeble mind still unable to accept that there was nothing to the left, nothing to the right, nothing past me.

—All that existed in this realm were two, intertwined souls.

Now that Elena had stepped foot in my domain, the curtain began to draw on the real tale. A tale of cat and mouse, of prey and predator, where I, the all mighty—

“So, you are the Crow King I heard about?”

As I heard her question, I felt my throat tighten. The grin I wore so proudly abruptly faded.

“I thought it was just that old geezer who called me that,” I muttered involuntarily as I facepalmed.

“Huh?”

“Yes, I suppose that’s me. The Crow King,” I said, rolling my eyes. “That’s what those idiots of Manposito decided to call me. But as I said before, please call me Ernest. Calling people by their name is the proper thing to do, don’t you think?”

I wasn’t going to admit before her how embarrassing I found that title. Like, I get it. I do have a Crow-shaped Mark on my chest, and the previous God of Death was a literal crow. So it’s fitting, to an extent. But that doesn’t mean I can’t resent it. A man has feelings, after all.

“Umm, sure,” Elena said. “So, ‘Ernest’, what’s with the chains?”

“Oh, these stupid things. They’re here to keep me bound.”

8 pillars surrounded my coffin. 6 of them had a corresponding chain, that went over the coffin and were attached to its opposite side.

What happened to the other two chains, you ask? That’s a secret.

“Trapped? Are you unable to move?”

“Pretty much. Believe me, it used to be even worse. Before I had no option but to stare at the ceiling. Well, not the ceiling, because there’s no ceiling, but you know what I mean. Nowadays I can at least flex the top of my body and flail my arms around.”

Demonstrating exactly that, I exposed my chest to her sight. I flexed my biceps, bringing attention to my large, muscular arms.

A real shame the chains prevent me from showing her something… even bigger, but alas.

Elena crossed her arms, apparently not impressed by my display. She then said, “So you’re just stuck there?”

“Yep. For over four-hundred years. Suuuuper dull. But at least now I have you for some company.”

I reached out with the tip of my finger for her forehead. Oh, how I wish my finger could morph into a brush. With red paint—no, with blood from my veins, I yearn to mark an X on her skin, denoting what’s my property.

Elena quickly stepped backward, avoiding my touch with disgust on her face.

In hindsight, such a reaction was expected—and what I desired.

She was the kind of woman not to be vanquished easily. Not because she possessed the power to resist. But rather out of a misguided sense of pride. Due to those naive convictions instilled upon her by her mother, Elena believed there was sense in resisting, that there was a point in not giving up.

How daring, how provocative. It made my heart beat with agitation, leap with anticipation.

—For I knew the moment she gave in to despair, her fall would taste all the sweeter.

“My apologies. As you might surmise, I’ve been quite starved for human touch.”

“That’s not my problem, buddy,” she said.

“You speak far too casually for someone standing before a god who presides over death,” I said.

“Over death? Are you the Death God the island is named after?” Elena asked with a hand on her hip.

“Ahh, I see you fell for a common misconception. The island is named after my predecessor. Notice how it’s called the Dead God’s Isle. Not the Death God’s Isle. There’s a difference. Even experienced cartographers make that mistake.”

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

“There was a God of Death before you?”

I chuckled. “A foolish bird who believed itself above death. My hands, lustful for power, tore it apart limb by limb. The notions the creature held about life and death were torn asunder, and for the first time of its pathetic existence, experienced the full truth of death, a truth even Gods cannot escape.”

But alas, that’s a story for another time. How could a man dedicate words to such a boring tale, when a fair maiden struck him with a look possessive of such innocence?

The way she scratched her chin spoke to her lack of understanding. Her eyes widened as I spoke, naive to the true rules that reigned this world. A feeble-minded creature, who all she could do was aim her childish sight upward, at a superior being who spoke with authority.

Her words may deny it, but her body language conveyed what Elena truly was.

A powerless, spineless woman.

One that belonged to me.

“But don’t wreck your puny mind trying to make sense of anything I just said.” I placed my hands behind my head. “Just make yourself comfortable. We are here forever, after all.”

“Forever?” Elena repeated, like a parrot. “Umm, no thanks. I have people waiting for me.”

Vomit-inducing, how persistent she could be. I needed to shut her down. “Death is permanent. And you’re dead. So…grieve yourself. Don’t take too long, there’s seven stages to go through!”

“I died again? I don’t even remember. I was in the woods, I began running, and then my mind went blank.”

“You got hit by a Ball of Darkness and Destruuuuuuction,” I said, breaking into song. “A common attack used by the islanders. It’s probably a spell with a name, but I’d rather call it the Ball of Darkness and Destruuuuuuction. It messes with your soul. Then kills you. Not sure who launched it, though.”

Elena witnessed my blabbering with wonder. “So, you know how I died.” She paused, then bit her lower lip. “Then surely, you also know that—”

“Yes, that little power of yours. I’m well aware.” I interrupted. “I gave it to you in the first place. Don’t try to Deathplain me.”

My comments were brimming with irony, mockingly playing on a term women like Elena liked to use. All the same, Elena’s eyes were filled with understanding, her eyebrows spiking upward.

“You gave my power to me?”

“Slow on the uptake? Or do you just get a kick out of parroting things you hear? Seriously, you do that a lot. Anyway, yes, I did. Consider it a gift born from the goodness of my heart.”

My words made Elena’s entire body quake. Whatever emotions were flowing through her, they were powerful enough to stun her.

Noticing her silence, I commented, “Now, I’m sure you have a bunch of questions on your mind. Like what your power is called and what its limitations are.”

Wide-eyed, Elena listened to me.

I closed my eyes, and with a cocky grin and a casual tone, said, “I haven’t actually thought of a name for it, but seeing how this world loves its Spanish spells, how about Revivir post-Muerte. Sounds spooky enough, and is actually grammatically correct for once.”

“Why…”

“Huh?” I glanced her way.

What a fool I was.

In my narcissistic desire to hear my own voice, I’d neglected to properly observe her reaction, working entirely off my assumptions on what her response would be.

“Why…”

I thought I’d have to satisfy her curiosity. Instead, it was me who feasted on her anguish.

“Why…”

This scenario proved to be far more appetizing.

“Why…”

Elena simply raised her question with the weight and repetitiveness of the beat of a drum. Tears overwhelmed her eyes. The way she stared conveyed such frailness, such weakness, that her words from before her death, that claimed she’d try her best, felt downright comedic.

“Why do you keep me alive? What do you see in me?”

More than a question, it was a lamb’s screech, a wail.

Within this realm our minds were no longer linked, and yet I could still see every picture her eyes were seeing. Every death, every moment of suffering her soul had endured. To carry that weight, to carry death as a memory, was a burden she and she alone had to face. A soul who knew death was an affront to nature, a perversion of the very concept of life and death. By gifting her with Revivir post-Muerte, I have cursed her to be such an existence, a monster who shattered the very foundations of the world. Death may be scary, but most would choose it before living that.

So why did I give her that power? Well, the answer is very simple. Because—

“Why all this? Why can’t you just bring me back home? Cancel my death! Return me to my mother!”

Oh, Elena. How you pleasure me.

Even when I can read your thoughts. Even when I think I have you all figured out, you always seem to find a new venue for my curiosity.

I was blind. I neglected to consider the impact of her life on Earth on her current self.

Elena was a woman whose death was the result of her sins. Her punishment was to live in a jail built out of guilt. Every second she remained alive was a second she spent in regret, thinking back to the world she failed to change, to the mother she left behind.

As the man responsible for keeping her alive, I was, in a way, also to blame for her sorrow.

How…convenient.

I reached out my hand. The same body that had once rejected my touch now surrendered, letting me grab her chin with no resistance. I raised her head, aiming her eyes at mine. I intensified my gaze, hoping to penetrate her entire soul.

“I want you to be… mine.”

Did that explanation suffice? Probably not. But it would have to do. There were no words that were worthy of condensing the extent of my feelings.

“I think you’re…interesting.”

But if words proved unworthy, then I pray the deep stare of my eyes proves enough to stamp my love in her heart.

“...”

Ah yes, that word. On second thought, maybe there a word of such magnitude did exist after all.

I desire to make a woman mine. I want to see her submit to adversity, to fall so deep into darkness that her only escape is to devote the entirety of her being to me. But it can’t be any, run-of-the-mill whore littering the city streets. It has to be a woman who resents everything I stand for. A woman of conviction, who when driven to despair has no choice but to throw those convictions by the wayside. A woman who rebels, only to be crushed by the injustices that plague the world.

To yearn for someone so intensely, you are even willing to risk the depths of death itself—

“I love you.”

—What is that, if not love?