Death

Stupidly beautiful, the fourth horseman had a right to be vain. But even in agitated Grim Reaper mode, complete with a massive scythe, I couldn't process the arrogant Angel of Death as a killing machine. Was he trying to frighten me? I might be the only human not terrified of him. Death was part of a family hero myth-and middle name-passed down for millennia. An actual book!

I didn't believe his claim of being a villain. Like the declaration automatically rewrote his hero history in my family storybook? Pfft! Wasn't he like my great-to-the-Nth grandpappy? How could I be scared of the guy written as a hero in family lore? Without him, my entire family line wouldn't exist!

He was mythology, an ancestry fairytale, then he grew wings and swept me away! Hades, Lilith, Morningstar? Tartarus, hell's dungeon? My fairytale-related angel sounded closer to nightmare now than legend passed down. Still, Death could not be a villain. That would yank him off the hero pedestal. And that living, breathing guy, at ground level, demanded I ride with him.

Hero or villain, Death was here to end the world. The angel hero from my family fairytale was real! And I, Zadie Grace, intended for the final horseman to realize that.