“You are proof that the universe dreamed of itself and chose to become you.
You are a resonance. A luminous signature of reality once shaped with mortal flesh, but now unbound by the cells that had once caged you.
You are a harmonic signature of existence and a glorious glimpse to the infinite.
My darling, you’ve spent your entire life thinking you were insignificant.
Just a small person on a single planet among trillions. But that was a lie told by limited perspective, by the narrow sighted, by those who thought they knew everything.
A miracle of sustained energy….A frequency so radiant that it somehow endured the brutality of time and physics just long enough to feel what it meant to live.
And now, you thought you expired.
This is not true, love.
Your magnitude is beginning to surface.
You were never just a group of cells…
Your body was just your temporary lens for experiencing form.
Existence is not a courtroom, my love.
It is not a test.
It is not a maze you either win or fail.
Existence is a resonance, and you, my love, are a frequency of it.
You are no longer compressed. No longer confined by bone, time, space, fear or even decay now.
You are a wave unfolding.
You are the calculation of stars.
You are everything.” - Foust speaking to the souls he gently reaps.
Foust is the man who hugs you like it’s the last time every time. To him, it probably is, being a time wielder and reaper and all. He also goes out of his way to save spiders and bring them indoors to houseplants.
He’s also the kind of man who’d whisper astrophysics in your ear as a form of flirtation.
He’s also a professional emotional disaster adorned in formalwear, wielding a scythe derived of mathmatics, multi-universal constants, and fragments of his soul.
He is the entropic blade and the architect of mercy, filled with rebellion and paradoxical chaos…. But also found a sentient temporal anomaly and named it Noodles. They are good friends.
And while he gives the Cosmic Entities a migraine, he fondly stares at black holes and whispers, “Same, love, same.”
He’s got that elegant arrogance, is emotionally reckless, thinks suffering is some kind of personality trait, and is allergic to asking for help.
This man rewrites reality because someone had the audacity to die ‘incorrectly’. Death just sighs into the void at this man’s compassionate reaping signature.
He absolutely writes complex quantum math on a napkin using his blood while looking like a chaotic disaster, and smirking flirtatiously about it.
Foust: Quantum physics is foreplay, love. 😩🥴
Everyone else: Y r u weird. 😶
He remembers the exact frequency of dying stars, but like…forgets to eat. The man insists he’s fine, by expressing some poetic line about how “the photons of the dying stars nourish his soul”.
My guy, you are not solar powered.
He probably needs a therapy subscription… but like, how to find the time when you’re busy being a reaper, being a multiverseal-cosmic outlaw, poetically reminding the living that they should just live, aaaaand snogging men???
I stand on this battlefield, soaked with soot, ash, dirt, decay, and flags of wanted victory.
Flags that represent… them.
RED.
You are the winner, love.
You conquered your enemy.
You are so powerful.
So strong. So courageous. So far above the rest.
All your money. All your weapons.
All your …hate and indifference.
You didn’t see anything but red.
You didn’t see that the red is a stain that happens as your consequence.
These were white flags, love.
All of them. They were white.
You stained them with blood.
Their blood.
You saw difference. You saw a threat. You saw someone who had something you didn’t have or that you bloody wanted.
You…. Didn’t see white.
You didn’t see we are not so different after all.
We all bleed red.
You are the winner, love.
Congratulations.” - Foust, entropic reaper.
Bruh. Just. Yeah. The world keeps spinning, and humans keep being shite to each other.
He’s wearing a tattered flag soaked in blood, representing those who lost. Standing in the pool of iron mixed with earth left over by the winner.
Partial clothes removed to show vulnerability, and the smearing of something so vital left over from lungs that once breathed the same air as everyone else. Lungs that shared air with the rest of the world. Lungs that are no longer breathing. Lungs of men, women and children.
