Paris and the Reaper

I was given the name Paris at birth.

So far, I've lived up to it; or rather, down to it. Too pretty, too unfocused, too easy a target. My father even tried to sacrifice me.

And then I was saved by a beautiful, haunted man.

Mac is a reaper; he delivers lost souls. But when he came for mine, I wouldn't let go. And now I can hear other souls too. I can help him. Love him, if he'll let me.

Assuming we survive a conspiracy to bring Chaos through the veil.

Mac says souls get what they deserve. If I do enough good, then maybe I can be worthy of his. Maybe I can hold on to him and our bond—forever.

Contains mature themes.

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Hljóðbók: 19 augusti 2025