The Daughter of Death- *RAYOR*

Chapter 1: Opposites Attract

 "Blakely," he said. I knew it was serious if he used my full name. I looked up, still stroking the silver scythe that rested across my knees.

"Yes?"

The second word lingered on my tongue, just out of earshot.

Father.

My eyes rested on his hood. He was standing over me, tall and erect. I likened him to a young oak, strong and calm, unmoving, even in the harshest of winds. The last part was true. The first was not. He wasn't young. He was old. In fact, he'd been here since the beginning of time.

"Sixteen deaths," said the Grim Reaper. "Four in Iran, eight more in Brazil. Another three in Somalia, around the coast."

"Don't worry, I'll take care of them," I said, standing up, still looking at his hood. He didn't let anyone except me and Gabriel see it, though another person, a woman, must have seen it once too. Ebony skin, and eyes dark as midnight. At his back were two wings, large and leathery, bat-like in appearance and dark as the cloak he wore.

In the distance, I heard a scream.

He seemed to ponder something, then said abruptly, "One last person, a girl. Russia. The name's Arielle."

I scowled. Arielle. A frivolous name that spoke of dresses and fairies. "Only sixteen?" I said, pretending to be musing whilst raising an eyebrow at him. "The world's having a good day today."

"No," said the Grim Reaper. "The death rate is as high as ever."

"I can handle more," I said. 

"No," he said again. "You'll need to spend all your strength on the last one."

"Why?" I asked, smirking. "She can struggle all she likes, but she won't be able to escape death. I'm your best, Father. You know I am."

"She's not just a person," said the Grim Reaper. "She's a half-breed."

I looked at him questioningly. Half breeds were very rare. We were encouraged by Death to marry within our species, to avoid odd mutilations. How ironic. 

"Half human," he said. He let the words linger in the air. Death always liked to make a show of it.

"And half what?" I asked impatiently, indignant because he thought that I couldn't handle a girl.

"Angel."

I swallowed. "I will get it done, Father."

He nodded. I knew he trusted me, as much as he had ever trusted anyone. "Blakely?" he said as I turned to leave.

"Yes?"

"Don't tell anyone."

"I won't," I said. "I'll talk about this as much as the mortals we send to their graves do."

***

It had been almost three years since Gabriel left. I guessed that siblings could either be incredibly distant or close. For us, it was the latter. Yet Gabriel looked nothing like me, sounded nothing like me, was nothing like me. Perhaps it was fitting because they say that opposites attract.

I looked into the blade of my scythe, my reflection glaring up at me, and for a moment it blurred to become his. Gabriel had been angelic. He had elf-like features, a halo of ruffled dark hair, and eyes that could tell a thousand secrets. I had raven-black hair, sharp features, and pale skin. Furthermore, Gabriel had been the one who was born with wings. I could use my scythe, of course, but it stung that he had something that I did not, and it was something that I deeply wished I had.