Massacre.

I can here his voice.

Granted it is muffled considering there is a wooden door between it and my ear, I can still here him. A small smile works it's way onto my lips as the words he has memorized spill from his. I bet he has his very serious and business face on, and he's staring at what ever soul it is.

"You understand you're dead right? And that you can no longer return back to the place you once knew?" I heard him ask, voice smooth and rich.

His voice. . .

I close my eyes and rest my head against the door, his voice continuously flooding through my ears. Reaper continues on with relaying to the soul how it died, the last events it had in it's body, and how those who knew them are coping. The meeting goes on how it normally does with Reaper doing a majority of the talking and explaining to whom ever it is what their next step will be and who or where they will be headed too.

Being a reaper was harder that most people thought. In fact Reaper was just one of many who harvested souls.

"You must know that you have nothing to fear. All those you encounter after me will not harm you, and only wish to help you" he finishes. But of course, not all souls are cooperative, this one in particular proceeded to scream like a banshee.

My hands immediately covered my ears, heart racing. I watched the symbols on the door etch themselves deeper into the wood, anchoring down before the hum of magic began to over power the screaming.

I scrambled to my feet and headed down the hallway towards the stairs, heading down to the ground floor and sprinting into the kitchen.

I ran to the sink feeling bile rising up my throat. I let loose the contents of my stomach, my lungs struggling to catch their breath. I choked out coughs, hands searching for my inhaler but ice spread through my veins when I realized it wasn't on me.

I gripped onto the porcelain and tried desperately to even out my breathing or even call for Reaper or Bones but I was already panicking. The fear intensified as I began to feel even more light headed, my legs growing weak.

Breathe, breathe I pleaded to myself.



I flinched at the barely audible unfamiliar voice, an unexpected warmth erupting from the tattoo and stretching beyond the lines. I stood still for a moment, caught off guard by the reaction. I felt my heart begin to slow down and air fill my lungs. I huffed and leaned over the sink to turn on the water and wash away the what ever the hell my stomach brought back up.

"What are you doing?" Reaper asked.

I jumped and spun around eyes meeting the familiar amber eyes. He raised and eyebrow at me and rolled up the sleeves of his button up, revealing his defined forearms.

I forced myself to look elsewhere and settled for my bare feet, suddenly aware of how cold the kitchen tile was. But I could still feel him looking at me.

"What were you doing, Massacre" he repeated.

"Nothing."

The elder eyed me suspiciously but then just shrugged his shoulders and started putting away the dishes from the dishwasher. I tried my best not to stare at him, but when it comes to Reaper, it's hard not to look.

Reaper was the definition of perfection, and my asthmatic lungs made me no where near as perfect for him. Stupid human body.

How would I ever get him to even consider being with me?