❛ ARE YOU SURE you don’t want a flower crown ? ❜ the warlock laughs , blue eyes flickering back and forth between the faeries and the person next to him . ❛ you might look pretty with it . ❜ he teases , a mischievous grin on his lips as he takes two drinks from a passing waiter , holding one to the other . ❛ i hope you’re enjoying the festivities either way . ❜ they feel like they are much needed , even if the joy and contentment aren’t much more than a perfect illusion for most of them . that doesn’t mean they can’t enjoy themselves for one night , right ?
THEIR PRESENCE IS SERPENTINE; cool and untouched by the heat, slender fingers reach to receive the wreath of flowers in spite of their initial pointed rejection, palm serving as a diacaustic for the power that was so deeply ingrained in their being. the petals weep on contact, neatly knotted stems dehydrate and rot, but death still places it atop their head.
“it seems frivolous for an immortal to celebrate their birthday,” low, unsoft words, their voice is neither dull nor melodic, neither feminine nor masculine, “even more so with the presence of some who… do not desire to be here at all.” death accepts the water, bringing the glass to their lips before continuing, “but… i would be lying if i said that i was unimpressed by the magnitude of the event.” the closest they will get to admitting they aren’t miserable, “are you enjoying yourself?”
( dilraba dilmurat, ????, they/them ) we opened the gates to the seelie court for azra il and we are curious to see how the horseman of death, that is often described as the warm winter, will contribute to the new era ━ are they the hunter, or are they the prey? we will find our answers in due time and until then, we hope that they can keep their little secret from getting exposed. it could be dangerous if everyone knew what we know… (blue, he/him, 20, est)
O DEATH, YOUR EVER REACHING HANDS AROUND THEIR NECK ! shapeless, a wisp of fate, they are weaved and sewn into being by claws far more familiar with destruction. the world stretches out, hazy against the miasma of the void they have been sculpted from, each blink dissolves the caul a little more.
they are called four at first, the fourth reaper to be formed from the marrow of death, were shapeless before they were given purpose; and what a purpose it was; tending the line between life and death.
their competence is clear the moment they slip out from the shadow of the horseman’s coattails. something clicks, the first time they meet eyes with a mortal, they seem to know instinctively which edges to smooth and which to sharpen. it is rare that a soul does not walk willingly with them. their tongue drips silver.
but it is inevitable that a creature would run eventually, mortals were weak but that did not stop them from bearing teeth and scratching all the way down. with a fell swoop that scythe ends all cut clean through an errant ghost and takes azra with it. they plunge into that which they had been borne of, and like the undergrowth of a forest it eats away at them until they are fully reincorporated into the waves.
they are nothing, and everything; a thick, imperceivable blanket of ash that covered the entire world, inhaled into lungs and caught beneath fingernails. their sense of self refuses to unmoor itself, has to be torn clean out like the spine of a prized fish.
death reached out and dragged them back by throat. barely a whisper had passed but azra, as they are crowned by the horseman, had felt time, which had been incomprehensible before, slow to a crawl before ceasing entirely.
they trail behind the horseman after that, imbued with more strength than average, one of many to be doted on and prepared just in case. they watched another cede to the role, watched carefully for any signs of fate tearing and cracking, lest they have to wield the scythe as it’s owner in the future.
and they did.
BLUE NOTES !
hi im blue!! im gna be writing death/azra!!! they’re somewhat aloof but not cold. they are fond of mortals and especially humans, they have a soft spot after corralling them into the afterlife since they were created… they see them with a parental sort of outlook. with immortals, especially ones that are capable of being reaped with the scythe, they adopt a more respectful and almost… unassuming demeanor.
they avoid touch at all cost, they wear gloves and typically also thick sweaters, jackets or capes. they’re not afraid to be associated with. well. the dreary side of death, so they typically wear black, tan and red. they’re fond of furs and skulls, old wine and tea. their home gives off the vibe of an old tea shop. they prefer cold weather, thick snow and ice is their favourite. their favourite fruit is persimmon, their favourite music genre is alt rock. they own gucci slides so prepare to face death in socks and sandals tbh.
