Kiss of Repose Wheel of Destiny — Morimens

Do not fear death. It is merely the body returning the soul to the night, like the tide receding into the quiet dark. True horror is not the end—it is dissolving into nothingness, becoming an unremembered whisper in the void. She did not die peacefully. The withered corpse had stiffened, blood and dissolution fluid fused into dark crimson glass. Yet her soul still quivered in the hollow of her throat, a wisp of consciousness clinging like smoke between her bones. A butterfly with shattered wings, beautiful and doomed. Doresain stepped into the room, leaving the dust undisturbed. He knelt beside her, his gaze tracing her clenched eyelids, her frozen fingers, the restless ghost-light trapped within. "Am I still alive?" "Will this darkness swallow me?" He did not answer. Instead, he pried open her cracked fingers with the care of one unfolding a dying flower. There was no pity in him, no judgment—only the serene patience of a god who deals in endings. And in that moment, she found peace. A rose between their joined hands—sweet, fragile. He bent low, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. As his lips met her skin, the last shudder of death stretched thin, then melted into the air like a sigh after a storm. No fear. No doubt. Only surrender. "I will remember you." He stood, studying her tranquil form. Then—sharp teeth, yielding flesh. Celina's voice curled through his mind: "I believe in you, brother." She was fortunate. In Doresain's memory, she would sleep forever.