This work is based on a headcanon that one of my tumblr friends had that said that Death had a mate or lover before the mass genocide he had committed on the Nephilim, and because of that, he had to kill her as well. I believe that if Death had a mate, the two of them would be extremely close, because from what I've seen from DSII, Death is hard to get along with in the first place. So this would've had to have been a special kind of relationship, which makes it all the more tragic and heart-wrenching.

I've had this hiding away in my phone for ages, so I finally got it up here! I also have other sappy stories btwn Death and a character I made up. They're just cutesy little fluff filled things that I write for my own amusement, I'll probably put a few of those up here as well!

Chapter 1: Her Lovely Bones

"I'm scared to get close and I hate being alone.
I long for that feeling, to not feel at all.
The higher I get, the lower I'll sink.
I can't drown my demons, they know how to swim."
Bring Me The Horizon - Can You Feel My Heart

He sat there, looking at the ground with a silent infuriating anger boiling in his head. Death, The Kinslayer, The Reaper, had pain in his heart. His black hair gently swayed with small breezes that passed in the density of the medium room he sat in, he was uneasy and weak.

It was even hard for him to see her go, including when he was the one who had to kill her. He had no choice, his commitment as one of the four horsemen is the reaping of souls. But, not even Death could stand the idea of killing someone he truly and deeply cared about. He cried and wept, screaming for her to come back, burst into fits of rage towards himself.

The anger seeped into his body like water creeping in between the cracks of a sidewalk, it ate at his insides and made him ache. His extreme anger changed into a sort of sickened delusion where she still lives and was able to talk to him, but then snapping out of it caused Death to fall into a blind rage once again.

He felt so cold and alone. He lay on the floor in grief and depression, one hand shrouded his eyes from the rest of the world as he moaned for her back. He falls silent after minutes and minutes of painful cries, gasps of air, and evil growls at nothing. He tore off the cowl that covered his upper torso and threw it aside. Death's low and gravelly voice killed the silence of the room as he plead: "Come back to me!" followed by fits of painful rage. He became so angry that nearby objects became targets for his unbound anger - walls were punched into, leaving blood stains and cracked cement. He didn't care how much it hurt, Death was already consumed by sadness and pain, it didn't matter how much bodily harm he committed to himself, he wanted to feel it.

Death's hand was bloody and throbbing. It shook uncontrollably from its extreme mutilation. Death could feel bones were broken in his hand, but he still did not care. He tried to make a fist, but it was no use. He felt the pain surge up his arm with a burning sensation, and then heard a crack from within the mess of flesh and blood and felt more pain. Tears slid down his bone mask as he grew angry. His swelling emotions made his head hurt and body numb again, with cold air piercing his pale skin like small needles performing acupuncture to the point where he would've bled. Again, Death wouldn't mind it.

He punched his broken hand into the wall once more. Blood spat out of his hand again, drowning it in a dark red. His shrieks echoed in the little white room as he gasped in painful breaths. He looked at his hand again, this time, worse than before. It shook and throbbed so much that it felt like it was being used as a drum, channeling his pain through his nervous system with each painful beat. Blood covered his hand like a warm blanket cutting off his circulation straight through his skin.

How could Death be so weak? He deserves the pain. The cocky bastard had it coming! The eldest of the horsemen, the idol of fear, the ending of life, Death, so brash and full of himself in a quiet, sarcastic way. He has no soul apparently, his heart made of ice, innards of thorn, hair of night, skin of snow, and eyes of fire. Make him suffer. Make him bleed. He does not deserve love! KILL HER! KILL HER! KILL HER!

Death snapped out of yet another hallucination. He was faced with how the world saw him, how he was perceived. Not ah intimidating or formidable, but evil.

Why cant he just end? To be with her again, to love her again, to hold her.

He had wrapped the injury in his cowl to stop the bleeding as much as he could. He settled down a bit and used his good hand to cover his face as he continued to cry softly. It felt as if the world wanted this to happen to him. No one cared about him. Death always perceived himself as someone who could handle things on his own, but for the first time, he wanted help.

He lay on the cold floor for ten long minutes until he was inclined to rise. Something was drawing him near a door on the far end of the room and shouted for him to go in. Death never even noticed the door until now, and its like he was being forced to see what was on the other side of this eerie blockade. His hand gently laid itself along the wooden finish, feeling every little crack and the roughness of the wood. His hand then clutched the doorknob and turned. As the door was opening, a dense cold fog crept out of the doorway followed by an extreme cold.

What he saw next, he never expected. It made him tremble with disbelief.

Her body lay sat in a corner in the dimly-lit room, appearing to be a sleeping figure. Her shoulders were slumped over and her head was faced towards the ground. It was her.

Death slowly made his way toward her, holding his injured arm to try to ease the pain. He knelt down beside his love and held her lifeless hand.

"N... n - no. no."

Death removed his mask and put it aside. He completely forgot about how cold the room was, he was oblivious to everything around him. His orange eyes glowed in the dim room as he sadly looked around. Once again, he began to weep over her, his sadness was mixed with hate and anger towards himself. As he cried, he screamed and growled in painful grief while cradling her corpse like a child. Even in death, her beauty was retained in her body. Her face was content, eyes closed in peaceful everlasting sleep.

Her skin was as pale as Death's, and he had noticed that. To this, he smiled behind his tears, it made him feel like she was closer to him. He felt an odd sense of solace in the room, which its only light source was a dim blue light that hardly lit up the room. It did, however, give Death the privacy he wanted, to grieve over her.

The cold from the room dried his blood and closed his wounds. His hand was indeed broken, but he hardly cared, the cold numbed the pain in his bones. The pain in his heart, however, he had to live with. The horseman's head began to spin with thoughts: "Should I stay here with her? Could I bring her back? Should I sit here and rot, wait until someone finds me here for them to care about me? No one can see that I suffer."

Death growled with a dissatisfaction, gently laid her corpse back on the floor, put his mask back on and stared at his injured right hand. He felt sore and ached all over. He was frustrated, for his every fiber boiled with an uncontrollable outrage. With care, he slowly unwrapped the cowl to check the wound. It bled no more, but his index and middle knuckles protruded out from his pale skin in a gruesome way. Without even taking in the consideration of the severity of his wound, he once again slammed his hand into the wall near him. Death felt his knuckles shift into his hand as he reopened the wound.

This time, in extreme pain, he wailed in agony for it to stop. Although he wanted to hurt, his hand was numb from disturbing the wound. He inhaled through his teeth sharply and yelled in agony as his hand shook and bled, this time he didn't bother to cover up the wound again, the cowl was enveloped in dried blood. His eyes were wide an were the only things that were barely illuminating the room besides the dark blue light. It hurt so much that he was forced into a kneeling position. The Horseman gasped for air and coughed up saliva and bile, he spat it up behind his mask and it dripped onto the floor. It bled from his mouth, as he didn't bother to wipe it from his face or mask, and dripped to his chest.

Death struggled to the nearest wall and attempted to get up. His successful endeavor led to him feeling a surge of pain flow all over his body and attack his hand. He roared and gasped, and then coughed up more fluid. Death went to leave the room, when he stopped himself from moving any further - he inhaled and exhaled sharply and turned around to face her corpse. A grief stricken grimace was etched along his face.

He made his way to her and gathered up the corpse as best as he could with his broken hand. Death then made an attempt to find the door out of the room in which he had entered. He walked slowly towards a small light that had caught his eye whilst turning around, but it disappeared right before his eyes. He looked in all directions and saw nothing, something wasn't right.

Death had searched each wall for the door but somehow it was gone. He growled weakly and then looked over at her, a sense of depression then overwhelmed him. He gently placed her body down and sat near her. He crossed his legs and began to meditate.

"I can smell it: blood. Acid burns in my veins as I rot from the inside out. There's a knot in my stomach that gets tighter with every move I make, and my throat is filled with sand. My head pulses shockwaves of pain that crush with every beat. My bones feel frayed and weak, and my joints ache like the rusted hinges of a door."

His thoughts raced.

"I'm going insane! No, I'm just overreacting, I must find peace. But why!? She is dead and it is by my hand for the sake of the damn Council! They say I cannot love, for I am bound by their word, I must do as told like a slave to the bastard owner! NO! I AM NO OBJECT TO BE CONTROLLED! I AM THE REAPER AND I FOLLOW NO ONE!"

Death growled and screamed so loud, that he snapped.