Eli roamed the cold corridors of his empty home for weeks that seemed like years, each room a mockery of the life he shared with Mara. Loneliness clung to him like the scent of decaying roses on a grave—sweet yet sorrowful. And when the echoing silence became too much to bear, Eli decided it was time to take the journey. Perilous though it may be, Hades was his travel destination, which meant he first needed to seek out the psychopomp, for he required a guide through the afterlife.

Abiding by the rules, Eli gathered the ritualistic trinkets: a lock of Mara’s hair, the pendant she wore every day of their life together, and the first love letter she penned to Eli. Armed with the knowledge scoured from dusty tomes and digital deep-dives, Eli prepared the ground with intricate circles of salt, each stroke a promise of undying love.

Eli uttered the incantation, and the room darkened, the air growing dense, pulling him into the abyss. He slipped on a patch of unreality and tumbled into the twilight realm, where murky waters stretched as far as the eye could see, and souls floated aimlessly, their faces twisted in eternal sorrow. Amidst the sea of spirits, the psychopomp—veiled and mysterious—stood on a drifting skiff.

“You dare to seek me out?” The psychopomp’s voice was an unsettling blend of male and female tones, old and young timbres.

“Yes,” Eli’s voice quivered, “To bring back my Mara, if only for one moment.”

The psychopomp studied Eli’s face. “A second of mortal time equals one of your years here. What are you willing to sacrifice?”

“Whatever it takes,” Eli replied, determination seeping into every syllable.

“Even Death’s kiss?” asked the psychopomp. “Beware—the price of that osculation is one you will bear forever.”

With an otherworldly flourish, the psychopomp summoned Mara’s soul. The air shivered as she appeared and her face lit up upon seeing Eli. Time was of the essence; a year in Hades was draining away in this fleeting mortal moment.

“Is it really you?” Mara asked, tears misting her ethereal eyes.

“Yes, my love, it’s me. I’ve missed you more than words can say.”

Before they could say another word, the psychopomp moved swiftly, pressing its lips to Eli’s. A sensation of coldness seeped into their soul, but Eli hardly felt it. The kiss from Death was complete.

Mara’s form began to dissolve, but not before she whispered, “Thank you for bringing love into my life and afterlife.”

As Eli returned to the mortal plane of existence, he found his appearance had changed; his eyes, once a vibrant blue, now a chilling gray, and a chill settled into the marrow of his bones that no fire would ever be able to chase away. He also knew the hour and method of his inescapable death—the lasting cost of his choice. But as he sat alone in his quiet home, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

It was a price he would willingly pay again, a thousand times over.