In a realm where shadows danced and whispers of the afterlife lingered, there lived a Grim Reaper named Moros. Clad in a flowing black cloak that seemed to merge with the darkness, he wielded a scythe that glinted with an otherworldly sheen. Moros was tasked with guiding souls from the mortal world to the next, a job that cast a long shadow over his existence.

Despite his fearsome reputation, Moros was not the cold, heartless being people imagined. He longed for companionship, for warmth, but the curse of his role was that anyone who drew near him would meet their end. A lifetime of solitude had left him weary, and the loneliness echoed in the hollow chambers of his heart.

One fateful evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of crimson and gold, Moros ventured into a secluded glade. It was there that he first beheld her—a radiant figure bathed in ethereal light, her wings shimmering like starlight. She...