A long time ago, born in a family serving Death, was a little Dragon, a Dragel. Born with eyes filled with curiosity and filled with love to give.
This little Dragel received all the love her family could give, and gifted it to all people she would meet, never lacking it in her heart.
The day this child first met the immortal that her family served was full of joy, the Dragel had met the future center of her life. Immortal, divine, kind, greedy accompanied by cold skin and warm eyes. The young girl finds herself to instantly love this Being, in a burning, invasive but living way. She had never loved this way but accepted this love like all the others in her heart with the sole objective: to give it.
Death loves, she loves her subjects, children, and blessed ones. Death loves in multiple ways but not in the way this child loved her. Death is greedy though and she takes, takes, takes. She accepted her in her ranks, like the other of her family and looked at her with warm eyes. A bond forming itself between them.
The years passed, the love between them grew stronger.
And on a sunny day, a destiny was shattered.
She who had only wanted to love and serve even after her death, did not have her desired end. A promise between an Immortal and a mortal, broken by death, an end that should not have separated them. A violent death, a soul broken to the point of no return with a scream resonating in the hearts of everyone present.
In a dark place, were tears. Hands of sometimes flesh, bones, or shadows, oscillating between appearance holding the remains of the soul. A fragile murmur of a name. A long moment passed before the figure moved, gently holding this fragile soul that a simple breeze would make it disappear without leaving a trace.
Death loves in multiple ways, and is known for being greedy. Taking and taking without ever letting go. So she took this soul and brought it to the blade lying nearby. A scythe, hers, with little use compared to those belonging to her servants but always by her side. She fused the pieces of the soul with her weapon. For a lot of people, doing this would be to imprison a poor person forever, but Death never called herself kind and a promise was a promise. Would this young Dragel have hated this fate? Would she appreciate forever being close to her mistress?
Centuries after, as Death appeared before her subjects, the scythe in her hand, with a part of it resting on her shoulder. The only Hellhound standing let his eyes drift over the weapon, a memory of big eyes filled with life, of swirling winds in every fight, of gestures and words giving all the love she possessed. If he lets his eyes focus a bit too much on it, something like a breeze seemed to appear around the blade, a blink of his eyes and this vision is no more.
It takes multiple seconds before the name comes back to him, buried a long time ago in his memories. Like a click, it came.
Ismenia, Ismenia Peverell.