Death's Obsession Avina St. Graves

Death's Obsession by Avina St. Graves

Published by Avina St. Graves

Contact the author at [email protected]

Copyright © 2023 Avina St. Graves

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to outside events, locales, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover by Beholden Cover

Chapter Header/photo by Mitja Juraja

Skull by Nika Rybczynska

Formatting made with Atticus

ISBN 978-0-473-68084-8

First Edition

Contents

Blurb

Triggers

Author’s Note

Playlist

Dedication

Fullpage Image

Prologue

1. Lilith

2. Lilith

3. Lilith

4. Lilith

5. Letum

6. Lilith

7. Lilith

8. Lilith

9. Lilith

10. Letum

11. Lilith

12. Lilith

13. Lilith

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Blurb

He’s coming for you.

Death is meant to come on a chariot of broken dreams or in the dark trenches of a storm, not in love letters and gifts.

He did not take my soul when I was meant to die. He did not want it all the other times that I’ve offered it to him on a silver platter. Yet, time and time again, he reminds me that I am his: His night monster, his dark love, his perfect other.

Death was the only thing keeping me alive. He watches me from his corner, taunts me with sweet messages, marks my body with his touch as I sleep.

He took the people that I love away from me. Still, no one believed me when I said that I saw the faceless man on the night of the accident.

No one can escape death.

Me? I’m chasing it.

Triggers

This book is considered dark and mature. It is not suitable for people under the age of 18. Triggers include (but are not limited to):

Stalking, death, dubcon, anal, double penetration, impact play, breath control, mental illness, emotionally and physically abusive romantic relationship (not with MMC), prescription drug use, alcohol and drug abuse, sibling death, parent death, cancer (off screen), PTSD, depression, anxiety, hallucinations, dissociation, traumatic events, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide (off screen), recording of sexual intercourse without consent, depiction of a violent car crash.

Author’s Note

If you by chance know Greek mythology and are well versed in Latin, I sincerely apologize for this book. It won’t be accurate.

Playlist

Death's Obsession on Spotify , as curated by my biggest fan, V:

It's Called: Freefall – Rainbow Kitten Surprise

Snow White Queen – Evanescence

Find You – Ruelle

Moondust (Stripped) – Jaymes Young

Afterlife – Nothing But Thieves

The Other Side – Ruelle

Fear of the Water – SYML

No Time To Die – Billie Eilish

I Found – Amber Run

Flawless – The Neighbourhood

Heavenly – Cigarettes After Sex

Mr. Sandman – SYML

Terrible Thing – AG

Paint It, Black – Ciara

Gods & Monsters – Lana Del Rey

Broken – Lund

Spiracle – Flower Face

After Dark – Mr.Kitty

Dedication

To the girls who think that the grim reaper will fuck like a god.

Prologue

Birth. Life. Death.

Heaven. Hell. Purgatory.

Good or bad, I will find you. You will not escape me. For I am he. For I am it.

You will run. They all run. You run thinking I will never catch you. You run thinking if you hide well enough, I will never find you.

You pray to your god I will never take you. You beg I never find the ones you love. Each plea falls on deaf ears, because I am coming.

You may think I will chase you to the end of the earth on my chariot, press my lips to yours and let your body rest peacefully. Even when you come willingly, you scream and fight for life. Praying and pleading that it is not your time, that you have more to do, more to accomplish. You claim to need more years under the sun, but you will never be ready. For what is death, in the face of life?

You claim I want your soul, that your death is only in my hands. But I do not want it. Your soul is yours to keep until it is not.

I have never wanted a soul until her.

My Lilith. My night monster.

She is a storm on winter’s day, and I will be content with never seeing the sun again.

She offered me her soul, and I gave it back. Not because I did not want it. Oh, I wanted it like a flower wants the sun, like a river wants the sea. When I come to collect her soul, it will not be to take her to the afterlife. No, her soul will be mine to keep.

Chapter one

Lilith

You look beautiful when you sleep.

I read the note again, over and over. I’m not crazy. The letter is real.

The harsh glow of moonlight only just makes the words more visible. I have to hold the thick brown parchment with both hands to stop it from curling back together. Each swirl of black ink is another coil that winds tighter around my stomach. The letters taper at each end, as if it was written with a fountain pen.

He was here again. He was watching me sleep.

I wrote the note in my sleep, I tell myself, just like Dr. Mallory told me to.

It doesn’t matter how many times I say it or scream it into my pillow or write it down, I don’t believe my own words. The letters are real. I know they are, even though no one else believes me.

I told Dr. Mallory about the man who visited me on the day of the accident, face hidden under the shadows of his hood. Then the gifts started appearing. Then the letters. Then came the symbols. All from him. The Faceless Man.

I tried showing Dr. Mallory that the letters are real, that I’m not hallucinating like she claims. In fact, I tried to prove to everyone that someone was watching me and leaving me letters. No one believed me—they think it’s just the ramblings of a woman gone mad. I’d take pictures of the letters, only for them to disappear from my phone. Every time I put the letters in my bag, they become lost to the void, only to appear back in my bedroom with a note that says:

It’s our little secret.

I’m not crazy. I’m not.

The gifts he leaves are real. So are the symbols he draws on my body. I know they are.

“You bought yourself flowers, Lili, you just forgot about it,” Dr. Mallory said, even though I’ve never been fond of flowers. When I told her about the symbols, she explained, “You must have been sleepwalking and drew them on yourself.”