The Work and Life of a Reaper

Elizabeth held the soul softly, before cutting it away from it's body. The familiar feeling of something being lost consumed her for a moment. This was the curse of a Reaper. You would feel all the sorrow, anguish, pain and heart-break that those around the deceased person wouls feel once they realized that their dear, was now dearly departed. Her apprentice watched her in away, and was fascinated as Elizabeth sealed the soul inside a small glass vial.

Everything about her was enchanting to him. She was 639, and held the beautiful of someone no older than 21. With dirty brown, messy curls, pulled into a high ponytail, and her cold green eyes set on those of the dead person before her, he knew so little, but so much about her.

She had first become a Reaper in 1333, when the Great Plague had swept the nation. She had been one from hundreds of thousands to die of the panademic. She was a level 5 grade Reaper, meaning she was respected. He himself, Cornell Varien, was a Level 30, the lowest you could be.

She stood again, crossing herself with the Christian symbol. It brought him from his trance. She always did that. He believed it was because she was a strong believer of God, and that if she blessed each departed soul, she too would some day depart. 

"Rest in peace." She told the souless, lifeless body. With that, she turned, and left. Cornell followed her, like a puppy at his mistress' heels.


The End

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