"A-are you Death?" The question comes out in a series of stutters and chattering teeth. It's surprising that he makes the assumption so quickly - not many catch on that fast, probably because I don't share too many similarities with the usual image of a Grim Reaper. Not many expect a woman, for starters, nevertheless one with curly black hair, a suit and aviator sunglasses. The scythe just came with the job.

"In a way." It was a vague answer, I know, but humans got so easily confused, "You could say I'm a sort of agent in that department."

I knelt down besides him, taking the sunglasses of for a moment so I could study him. He looked like a young chap, around thirty, with dark brown hair that was slick with river water. His features were strong - masculine, betrayed by soft eyes. All in all, he seemed a pretty average man, but the upside of being an anthropomorphic personification is that one can detect things in a person that normal humans simply can't.

"When were you born, Mr Ted Edwards?"
"H-how do you know my name?"
"You think I wouldn't know something as simple as that? Now, answer the question."

He bit his lip, and my suspicions were confirmed. This wasn't going to be simple.

"1910."

"A hundred years old." My smile was sardonic, "And you're stuck in this ageless body and just can't seem to die, hmm?"

"I've tried everything." His voice was thick with desperation, "I've tried cutting my wrists open, but the blade suddenly turns blunt. I've tried hanging myself, but the rope always snaps at the last minute, shooting myself doesn't work either, the bullet always gets jammed, and-"

I held up a hand, stopping him mid-rant. I tried my best kind smile.

"Mr Edwards, my name is Willow Delilah, and I'm going to make sure you can die."