"WAS IT HARD TO find me?" she asked.

Nathan let the scythe roll around in his hand, closing his fingers tightly around it then. His hair was tousled, as if he had ran all the way here, so fast the wind had pulled it back. A faint red was dusted across his cheekbones, pale enough that it almost softened his features.

"Of course not," he said," I know you like the back of my hand."

"It seems so," she smiled," I'm glad you were lead back to me, even if I was the one who ran."

He watched her somewhat curiously. "Your hesitation is gone."

"What?"

"That doubt," he said, taking a step forward," the one that was always there; even when you told me you loved me, even when you whispered you would never leave me. I wonder what conviction you have found, Helene, and how."

"Surely you must know what it will be," she said," with me standing here, in front of you."

"I wonder," he drawled, brushing the scythe past her neck. Despite it being plastic, it somehow felt icy cold to the touch. "You're surprisingly unpredictable, my love, even when I think I have you all figured out."

Over the years she had agonized at how unfathomably hard it was to understand herself, but now the thought didn't evoke any emotion out of her. Nothing did, really, nothing but Nathan and the way his fingers closed around her wrist, tight enough to feel her pulse. Oh, how she had fallen in love with this man. It didn't matter whether it was real or not, just like it didn't matter that she had given everything she had for so many years. In the end, none of the effort or the sleepless nights had made her important enough for anyone to remember.

Nathan remembered her. That was why it was fine if this was Stockholm, it was fine if loving her and killing her meant the same thing to him. After all, her feelings remained the same. Finally, she was allowing herself to be adored, even if it was by a serial killer with his hands on her neck.

The upper floor was completely empty, save for them. In the small space between them only the scythe hovered, Nathan holding it loosely as he leaned forward, nose brushing past her cheek. She placed her free hand around his, unable to keep herself from being buried alive in his graveyard eyes.

"Do you think you can ever stop killing, Nathan?" she asked.

"Do you want me to?" he replied softly.

She didn't answer him, because wanting things didn't equal them happening. Most of all, she wasn't sure if that was what she wanted. The only thing she needed was him telling her his thoughts, even if they were so dark that she would choke on the shadows.

"We could move, you and I," she said," far away, where no one knows our names. We'll open a coffeeshop, with stacks of books all around. Every morning we'll be greeted by the scent of caffeine and the warmth of a home. Doesn't that sound lovely to you?"

"Helene," he began, but a faint sadness curled itself around his voice. How strange to see him like this, struggling with his words as if they finally carried meaning to him. "Do you really think we could?"

"I don't," she smiled warmly at him," I'm clever enough to know that, unfortunately."

"I want to," he said, grip tightening around the scythe," or I don't, I — I don't know. I can't live peacefully like that, I've never tried. What will I do when that itch comes again, the one in my palms which tells me to close my fingers around a knife?"

"You'll close your fingers around mine instead," she said softly.

"I don't think I can," he said," I am wicked, but I also want to be. There's nothing crueler in this world than I am, I know that. If I move from being the monster under someone's bed to the light after so many years, who will I be? How will I keep myself from disappearing?"

"You'll be mine," she said," as I will be yours. There's an expiration date on this lifestyle of ours, Nathan, you and I both know that. Sooner or later, a bullet will be shot straight through our heads. I've never had a quiet life, but I think after all of this, I really want one now."

He paused, looking at her in silence before he let the scythe go, forgotten. It clattered to the floor, his hand on her neck as he pressed her back against the wall. The rows of veils around them made a curtain of bloody lace and for a moment she felt like she was in a dream. If she closed her eyes, perhaps they would even be wed. In sickness and in health, until death do them part. How ironic.

"You're so warm," he remarked, hand sliding down her neck to the space in between her collarbones," the first human warmth I felt was from the blood spilling from someone's heart. A part of me wants to do the same to you, just so you'll never leave me again. I don't know if I'm capable of letting you live a quiet life, Helene, even if it's with me. I don't think I can take it if you smile at anyone who isn't me, never mind leaving me alone again. The thought alone makes me feel like I'm losing my mind, because it would feel like I'm losing you."

"Nathan," she smiled lovingly, cupping his face in between her hands," oh, my lovely Nathan. I adore you so dearly, you remind me of that fact even now. You're right, we could never live like that. I don't deserve it, but I don't think I want it either. It seems we've become drowned in chaos, you and I, to the point where it's in our lungs. Do you hear it rattling with every word, our impending doom?"

His gaze lingered on her lips before it flicked back to her eyes, intrigued.

"Is this a promise that you won't run away from me again?" he asked.

She laughed, almost euphoric at his presence, at the questions which were so obsessive that she couldn't help but feel loved. When she leaned forward to kiss him, he didn't object, a soft exhale leaving his lips once she pulled back.

"I cling to death as if that will make her kinder to me," she whispered, thumb brushing past his bottom lip," what do you think that says about me?"

"Is death a woman to you?"

"Death is whoever's face I see in the mirror," she said.

Nathan brushed the hair out of her face and she kissed him, unable to be separated from him again. When she bit on his bottom lip, he didn't flinch, not even when she punctured him deep enough for it to scar. She pulled back, his blood coloring her teeth red, and he smiled. Her hands slid downwards, over his chest and to the waist band of his trousers, his shirt raking up as she moved.

When she pulled the knife from where it was strapped to his belt with one hand, she pushed him back to the floor with the other. He slammed to the ground as she straddled him, the blade pressed against his neck with enough pressure to draw blood, droplets welling up underneath it. Nathan didn't seem fazed, but she hadn't thought he would be. Of course he would comply when she pushed him over, of course he wouldn't stop her from grabbing one of the many weapons he carried.

He always had told her he wouldn't mind dying by her hands and now it seemed he truly was a man of his word.

"Do it," he breathed, almost ecstatic at the fact that she had finally made a decision.

"I will," she said, blood dripping from her lips," for us."

"A kiss of steel has never tasted quite so sweet," he said," I can't think of a more romantic ending than this, my love, with iron between our teeth and a knife at my throat. I always knew you'd stop my heart."

"I love you," she said," I'll always love you. If you stop breathing, I will as well, but I have to."

He pulled the gun from his belt before she could stop him, placing it right in front of her heart. She could feel the icy cold steel through the fabric of her clothes and she couldn't help but lean in closer, almost in relief.

"Are you going to shoot me?" she asked.

"Isn't it fair for us to be reunited in death after this?" he smiled," perhaps the afterworld will be gentler to us, my love."

"Perhaps," she said, hand tightening around the hilt of the knife," though I fear it won't be as gentle to our child."

She hadn't often seen Nathan lose his composure, but when he looked at her, there was none of that wicked charm anymore. Instead he was wide-eyed, surprise coloring his eyes and his lips parted, red dusting his cheeks. His grip on the gun loosened as he immediately pulled it back, almost as if burned. Slowly his gaze flicked from her stomach back to her face, trying to discern truth from lies as he focused on her.

"You're pregnant?" he asked.

"A terrible truth, it seems," she said, gently placing her hand on her stomach," we'll ruin this child, you and I. This is the only solution for us."

He almost seemed feverish as the gun clattered to the ground, hands on both sides of her waist, holding her gently. The surprise had made way for adoration as he looked at her as if there was religion to be found in her eyes, as much as he ever had believed in anything holy. For a moment she imagined the two of them together in a sun-soaked house, with a little girl who ran around with soft hands and a gentle smile. There were no scars on her and there never would be.

"Please Helene," he whispered," I'll do whatever you want, but let me be a father. Let me be everything you want me to be. I love you, I do, so much that I choke on the feeling every time I speak. We can live whichever life we want, I promise you that."

"We're both supposed to die," she said, words falling across each other," don't you get it? This is how it was going to end. I can't hurt a child like we were."

His hands fell away from her waist, fingers closing around his gun again as he raised it, this time to his own head.

"Alright," he smiled," if that's what you want, my love."

"Nathan," she said," what are you doing?"

He chuckled, finger hovering above the trigger.

"Are you that mesmerized by me?"

The words were so familiar that they stung, her hand already moving before she could think. When she placed the knife on her own throat, she felt at peace.

"Excuse me," she said," I was just lost in thought for a moment."

When she closed her eyes, everything became dark.