Kate LSY

She sat on the bed with a pillow jammed behind her back.

The bedroom, lit by the faint warm glow of a vintage night lamp, cast soft shadows across her face—a face yet to be marked by time. Not deeply, anyway.

Her thumb flicked through the infinite scroll like she’d reach the bottom. Her eyes glazed over the squares of curated joy. And her heart thudded, heavy as if swaddled in a weighted blanket—without the calm, just the drag.

She groaned, letting her head thunk back against the headboard. The sound dull, and the physical expulsion did little to release the pressure behind her ribs.

“You know,” came a voice from above, slow and unbothered.

A dark smear bloomed in the pale ceiling like ink soaking through paper. A figure seeped halfway through—hooded, hunched, and cloaked in curling shadows. Faceless, without limbs. Just a heavy robe that moved like it remembered the presence of a body, once upon a time.

“I could make that dread go away.”

She blew a raspberry and crossed her arms. The phone flopped onto the bed with a soft thud.

“Die in my sleep just to avoid Monday?” She rolled her eyes. “Tempting. But no, thanks.”

The figure said nothing, drifting lower. Their sleeve hems dangled from above.

“It doesn’t have to be sleep,” they mused, head tilted at an inhuman angle. “There’s a whole menu of exits. Some quick. Some tragic. Some so absurd I hesitate to even say… Pick your poison.”

“Absurd?” She quirked an eyebrow.

“Mmm…
Sucked into a sinkhole while buying mouthwash.
Drowned in a sea of half-read emails.
One girl once fell into a compost bin and—”

“Okay, ew.” She raised a hand. “Boundaries.”

“So dramatic,” the figure muttered. “I’m trying to help. You’re clearly wilting.”

“Wilting, not dying.” She wrapped her arms tight across her chest again.

“That’s a thin line.”

“It’s not your line.”

“Everything’s my line… eventually.” The voice was quieter now, but no less knowing.

That shut her up for half a second.
Not because it scared her, but because it didn’t.

“You always show up when I’m at my worst,” she said, her voice flat.

“You always call me when you’re too proud to cry.”

“I didn’t call you.”

“Didn’t have to.”

The figure hovered at the foot of the bed, robe pooling like fog, hood angled just enough to radiate quiet triumph—as if they’d been waiting for this moment, and it delivered exactly as expected.

“You want to be held?” they said after a beat.

“No.” She barked, a little too fast.

“Liar.” They dragged out the vowels like smoke curling from a match.

“You’re not even solid,” she snapped, her tone trying for venom—but there was more honey than heat.

“Neither are you, lately.”

She kicked at the figure. Her foot passed through the dark mist, and though the hood revealed nothing, the subtle shift of their shoulders suggested they were grinning.

“Still,” they murmured, folding themselves into the corner of the room like it was the best seat in the house. “I’ll sit with you. Just until the feed gets boring.”

“That was three hours ago,” she muttered.

“Then I’ll stay longer.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile was already creeping in, traitorous and warm.

“Suit yourself. It’s not like you ever leave, anyway.”

She leaned over and flicked the light off.

“Good night, Death,” she murmured into the dark.

“Good night, Darling. See you… tomorrow.”

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Death’s Darling Diary: A collection of quiet moments with a shadowy guest who shows up uninvited—and, as it turns out, provides annoyingly good company.

Written by Varrow Yu.