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Summary
Love, he thinks. Perhaps, peace.
And Time, ever fickle, ever unmerciful, and yet always the romantic... Listens.
When they see this boy––so good, so pure, so kind, Death’s very own chosen––kneeling, sorrowful, at the foot of his enemy, and hears the echoing refrain of hope and love from a man with a fear of Death so heavy, with a darkness so deep in his heart it looks like ink...
They know they can make an exception. They can be made to bend, just this once.
And timelines, Time’s very own veins, grow.