Expressive_Potatoe

The room was thick with the smell of wine. January 2025, Aezren leaned against the couch with wine in his hand, His eyes red like the sun during an eclipse, while his hair a chaotic Blonde framed his face with eerie elegance, hoping not to be disturbed by the screams of people. He was the Grim Reaper and the cause of people’s misfortunes, so it was only natural that he was embraced by screams day and night. Without a moment’s notice, he heard another person cursing him. “Not this again…” he groaned as he got up. He sipped his wine as he watched the drunk woman cursing him from the reflection on his wine. Lavinia stood on the parapet wall with high heels, ready to fall at any moment. Her red lipstick messed up, her skin a shade of bright olive, her hair had faded black hair dye, her eyes a shade of deep green, reminiscent of the forest. Her movements came out unstable as she screamed out, “Seems like all doom is attracted to me!” she laughed, tears rolled down her face. “I’m really not,” Aezren scoffed as he rolled his eyes. His eyes blew into saucers at a closer look at her face. “That face, it’s her!” he exclaimed. “I can’t let her die,” he pleaded with desperation as his “heart” raced. Aezren put his glass of wine back on the table with telekinesis as he stood up and teleported to Lavinia. However, it was already too late and she jumped off. Aezren jumped off of the terrace and held her in his arms as he floated in the air. He quickly took her back to the terrace before anybody could notice. Lavinia shut her eyes tight, hoping for the worst to happen—her death. She opened her eyes soon after she realized that she was on solid ground. “What is it,” she smiled, “Am I in heaven or hell?” she walked as she wondered. She was in her own world. “You’re in none,” Aezren told her, about to crash out at her obliviousness. But of course, she was half rat — drunk as hell. He let out a deep sigh. She didn’t listen. He recited some sort of spell, his index and middle finger pointed at her. Since alcohol has similar affects to being dead, it was easy enough for him to get her to be sober. She blinked in surprise. “Wh…Who are you?” she stammered, taking steps back defensively. “Be my muse.” He asked her. He has been searching for a her for over 4 centuries now. Having been living for so long, he has started making paintings to pass time. He has her face like a fuzzy faded painting in his head, and he has always struggled to capture her in his paintings. Finding her was a dream come true for him. She couldn’t die. Not before he painted her. Lavinia’s breath hitched. She was hit with nausea and dizziness. “Please.. please leave me alone!” She begged, her voice came out louder than she wanted it to. Aezren stared at her, his expression unreadable. “I didn’t save you because I care about your life,” he said, voice low. “I saved you because you have a face that doesn’t belong to this era.” Lavinia’s breath hitched again, her head spinning, “What the hell does that even mean…?” “I’ve seen you before. In dreams, in sketches, in brush strokes I never finished.” He sighed, “Centuries of searching. And suddenly, you’re on a rooftop, yelling about doom like some half-broken opera.” “You’re insane,” she whispered, backing away. He didn’t argue. “Probably,” he said with a shrug. “But I don’t care what you believe. You’re here. And I need to paint you before you disappear again.” Lavinia blinked, confusion and fear wrestling inside her. But something about him—his tone, his posture, the weird mix of detachment and obsession—made her pause. Her stomach flipped. The room still spun, but she wasn’t sure if it was just the wine anymore. “Okay,” she said slowly, swallowing hard. TW: Might include topics or references to Self harm. Reader discretion is recommended.