The Magnificence of Death

by Rhea Rainwater

His gaze remained locked on the figures in Rodin's Gates of Hell.

My Darling Curse.

"What kind of love story is this..." Uncertainty crept in as my eyes flickered to his. Grim’s expression softened, his lips curving into something that felt almost… apologetic. But it didn’t last. "The kind where the villain remembers he's still just a villain." His voice was thick, as he brushed his lips against my cheek in a tender, fleeting kiss. Just as quickly as it began, the moment unraveled.

“But now… now I think it’s because that’s what you represent to me.” “A star?” “Not just a star. The star. The one thing bright enough to make even Death look up.”

And you don’t owe the world a legacy just to justify your existence.”

"I don't want your firsts," he said, the words agonized. "I want your lasts. Your last kiss, your last laugh, your last life… your last breath.”