The bank-breaking game of craft and collusion.
Cloaked There was nothing unusual about a soul clawing at his cloak. While most accepted his arrival, a good number snatched at him, often falling to their nonexistent knees, begging to remain on earth.Cloaked by ~TheShanar
But this was the first time anyone managed to rip the cloak clean off.
The soul didn't notice the black cloth melting to the floor.
Even Death himself was far too occupied to amend the matter. The man's soul was thrashing, trying to force himself away from Death’s emaciated grip.
The soul was frantic, even as his struggles subsided.
"Even in death I can still watch over my family!"
Death paused, tightening his skeletal fingers around his scythe. On occasion, he would let a pleading soul remain. Those souls would grow embittered in their helplessness and eventually rot in remorse and this man deserved no such pain.
WorthyIt's said:Worthy by ~TheShanar
Do not cry over spilt milk.
But doesn't milk have as much right to tears
as a thousand year-old vase
with ancient inlay
and crusted crevices?
For both are broken.
Just one more loudly