Chapter Text
Mr. Ventura would not have seen himself in such a precarious position in the future, on his 27th birthday, nonetheless. He thought he was on top, risking it all by standing on the edge, taunting the grim reaper as if it was at the same table, playing with him. Chance was not afraid because he knew he was the luckiest man in town… How wrong Chance was.
The Grim Reaper did not look like your typical guy with a dark cloak, carrying a scythe to harvest the unfortunate souls. No, it was obvious from the start, Chance would have thought back.
What was there to reap, if Chance had never sown his earnings to begin with? It was all given to him from the start, fed to him through a silver spoon. As shiny as the things that surrounded him, it blinded the son of the Ventura family.
The smell of gunpowder persists, as smoke instead clouds his vision of the man adorned with jewelry. There it was, in front of him… it was almost laughable how he had not seen this coming. As all things that shone, the final glint of his well-dressed friend’s diamonds was what Chance would notice at his final moments.
On the 7th of July 1881, Mr. Ventura had met his Grim Reaper in the form of an old friend.