INTRO
THE GRIEVER
If Heaven is real, then Hell must be real too.
So where do I get to go?
What if my sins aren't big enough to send me to Hell, but the goodness in my heart isn't enough to get me into Heaven?
Where do I go then?
I died.
God couldn't accept me.
Even the Devil rejected me.
Why am I different?
Why am I seeing darkness everywhere?
Where am I?
Do I even care?
Nope.
Hello, I'm Vivalda Athena.
And I'm dead. ☠️
Seriously. I'm dead.
I know what you're expecting—a story, right?
Like how did I get here?
Well, unlike most regular people, I don't really have a story.
I never lived a life.
I can summarize it.
I grew up alone. From an orphanage to living on my own. I worked at a shop, going through life looking at the world through a black-and-white lens.
Nothing ever attracted me.
I wasn't happy.
I wasn't sad either.
Actually, I wasn't anything.
I never smiled.
I never cried.
I just existed.
Until eventually...
I died of boredom.
Now the Devil is telling me I'm in the space of my own grief.
How funny.
Grief.
That's a funny joke.
Apparently, God said I didn't have any meaning in my life.
So...
“What do I do now?” I asked in the most bored tone possible.
“Well, your case is special,” the Devil said. “So, yeah. You have two choices.”
Blackout.
---
REASON TO LIVE GIVES REASONS TO DIE!!
I opened my eyes only to find myself in a pitch-black place.
At first, I remembered being in my room, staring at nothing and secretly hoping I'd die.
Am I still in that dilemma?
“Where am I?” I asked, bored.
“Hello, Young Griever.”
I turned toward the voice.
“I’m Alaric, by the way. Messenger of the Heavens and Hell. I've been sent here to be of necessary service.”
“Why would I need service?” I asked.
“Umm...” He paused.
“How do I say this?”
He took a breath.
“Well... you're dead.”
“Okay.”
I said it so casually that he stared at me.
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
“What’s with the reaction? Normally, you're supposed to be frantic. You know—‘I died!’” he said, dramatically throwing his hands around.
I stared at him.
I observed him carefully.
He definitely couldn't be the Devil.
He was way too chatty.
“So,” I said, “if I'm understanding this properly, I'm dead, and I'm not in Heaven or Hell?”
“Yep.”
“Now what are we going to do?”
I sighed.
“If you're about to turn me into a Grim Reaper, I'm sorry, but I won't be doing that.”
Alaric blinked.
“That's not actually one of the options.”
“Good.”
“Well, in situations like this, we usually give the deceased two choices.”
“Which are?”
“First option: become a messenger for the Heavens for a decade. After that, you return to Earth as an immortal—or whatever else you wish to be.”
I stared at him.
“And the other choice?”
“Perish.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You can never be recreated. You would officially cease to exist.”
He shrugged.
“No Heaven. No Hell. No reincarnation. Nothing.”
“So, basically, I disappear?”
“Pretty much.”
“Then I choose to perish.”
Alaric's expression changed.
“Huh?”
“You heard me.”
“You want to... cease from the names of the living and the dead?”
“Yes.”
“If that's an issue, inform me.”
He stared at me for a few seconds.
“No. It's not an issue.”
He sighed.
“But I'll have to call my higher-ups.”
“Be fast.”
“You're sure?”
“I'm sure.”
“Okay.”
And just like that, he disappeared like a swift gust of wind.
I was left alone.
Again.
---
After what seemed like forever, a door appeared in the empty darkness.
A door that hadn't been there before.
It opened.
A Demon walked through.
“Is she the one?” he asked.
Only then did he turn his attention toward me.
“Lucifer,” Alaric said. “She's the Griever with the second choice.”
Lucifer.
I studied the Demon standing before me.
He didn't have horns.
No terrifying claws.
No monstrous face.
Honestly...
He was good-looking.
Annoyingly good-looking.
His eyes were different, though.
They were the pure reflection of pain.
His facial features carried an effortless dominance, the kind that made you feel small without him even trying.
He stared deeply into my eyes.
I stared back.
Neither of us looked away.
“Let's get this over with,” Alaric said. “But why do I feel like God is going to throw a fist without seeking his ‘consent’?”
“We just have to wait for that later,” Lucifer replied calmly.
He stepped forward.
“As the Ruler of Hell, second in command of mortality after God, the Banisher and Destroyer, I call upon the Heavens, Hell, and all bodies in between.”
His voice echoed through the darkness.
“To perish the Griever with the incipit: Vivalda Athena, created on the day of Sabbath, born on the 27th of October, 1999, and deceased on the 24th of December, 2024.”
The darkness seemed to grow heavier.
“To cease her existence, I remove every sign related to her.”
His eyes remained fixed on mine.
“She shall never receive the gift of life again.”
A pause.
“She shall never bear the Antichrist's mark, nor shall she be called a Son of God.”
He raised his hand.
“I hereby destroy you...”
His fingers snapped.
“...and cease you from existence.”
My body suddenly ignited.
Not fire.
Something worse.
It felt like every part of me was being ripped apart at once.
My skin.
My bones.
My memories.
Everything.
“Oh, and Athena...” Alaric said, wincing.
“It’s gonna hurt a little.”
“You don't have to be soft on her, Alaric,” Lucifer said.
Even as my existence burned away, I had no regrets.
No desire to live.
Nothing.
For once, I was completely certain of something.
I wanted to disappear.
Then...
I heard something.
Trumpets.
Or maybe my mind was simply breaking apart.
“Did you hear that?” I asked.
“Well, speak of God,” Alaric muttered. “I don't know why he likes making an entrance.”
God?
I almost laughed.
Does he want to watch me die again?
Then—
WAIT!
The voice shook the darkness.
Everything stopped.
The burning.
The pain.
My thoughts.
Before I could process what was happening...
I saw myself standing somewhere else.
White clouds.
Golden light.
A place I had only ever heard about.
A place I was certain I would never see.
Heaven.
Huh?
...
WHAT AM I DOING HERE?
Blackout.
