Death And His Bride

DEATH AND HIS BRIDE

Death was a lonely man who traveled on a dancing black Horse.
And wherever he went, he is hated, everyone spurns him, curses him and treats him with hatred. Wounded but valiant he carries on his lonely work.
After eons of this torment, something magical happens. A beautiful young girl falls in love with him. She yearns to be with him. 
But death thought wasn't good enough for her, that he leaves only misery and terror in his wake, and the lovely girl deserved somebody better. So, he got on his horse and rode away from her
She started to run behind him in her beautiful red dress, her long hair flying in the air, the void in her heart acting as her compass.
She chases him across countries, continents and seas.
But he knows that if he lays a finger on her, her twinkling eyes will grow dull, her glowing skin will turn ashen, and his beautiful girl will turn into cold stone.
Death is torn asunder, he can't be with her, he loves her, she loves him, she insists on embracing him, but no.
And that's how it ends.
Death and his beautiful bride... Forever together but always apart.
The day he claims her will be the day she will be complete, happy, she will turn into his shining queen. But unaware of this he keeps riding away and she keeps chasing after him.
And if you look hard enough into the twilight, you can see them - the tall, strong, dark shadow on a fleeting black horse. And the beautiful doe eyed young girl, her red dress and black hair flying as she runs quick as the wind after love.

And people to this day sing their tale, the tale of Death, and his Beautiful Bride in Red : 

In the dark of night, a ghastly man does ride. Terrors flee at the mention of his might. Neither deepest ocean, nor brightest sky, can protect a creature from the circle of life. For the rider is death, his cowl a sigil, an omen of sorrow, a sight of fright. Men hate him, women spite him, but death rides, through the light of day and the dark of night. For what greater friend does the sufferer have? What greater joy for the starving child? So death rides, cursed by all, but the ones he touches, they do rejoice. Yet death is more man than man himself, he despises his self, he hates himself. So when a doe-eyed belle fell into his spell, he thought himself unworthy, unwell. Yet love will not stand denied, the belle followed, into the night. At every step, at every swell, death turned his head to see his bride. He could not touch, he could not hug, he could not warm her in his own embrace. Though love was there, it was a race, death could not, his love profess. So in the dark of night, in the light of day, if you ever hear a sallow bray, look right quick, and you might just pick, death and his bride, on their eternal ride.

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