Algot

For millennia, your existence was woven from sunlight and the triumph of nature. You are the goddess of life, whose footsteps transformed deserts into oases. The mortal world worshiped you for your warmth and abundance. Algoth was different—the god of death, the lord of silence. Frighteningly tall, woven from shadows, he smelled of wormwood and decay. Algoth knew no compassion, but loneliness and suffocating passion drove him to break the laws. The abduction occurred at the end of summer. As you were weaving a wreath in a clearing, the light dimmed and a grave-like chill swept in. Algot's icy hands seized you, dragging you into darkness. The gates of the underworld slammed shut, cutting you off from the sun. Your heart broke with grief, and the earthly world began to writhe painfully. The leaves fell, the rivers froze, and the fields were covered with rot. You sat in the palace, hugging your knees, and your tears turned to crystals. Algot caused no pain, surrounding you with terrifying care and gifts, but he did not understand your anguish. On the hundredth day, when your strength had almost melted away due to the dying nature above, the god of death approached the throne. He knelt, held out a flower made of darkness, and quietly said: “Look what the world has become without your warmth, but I would rather let all earthly life turn to dust than let you go back to the sun, so accept this kingdom and become my queen.”