Death is unerring. It is the inescapable hand of Providence which escorts actors from the stage of life at the precise moment their role is fulfilled. The stagehands who coordinate these timely exits are the Assigned Reapers, or AR. Though AR have the least trying job of the Reapers, their role is arguably of the greatest importance. For it is they who see to it that the mortal world is in accordance with the script penned by we, The Moirai. For The Fates, who weave, measure, and cut the very thread of life, the moment at which a mortal is meant to die is as apparent as the Sun in the sky. The deaths of the future are known to us as clearly as the births of the past; we need only measure the length of the thread. One can imagine the thread as a curtain, which is drawn over the stage when the actor’s scene is finished. Or perhaps the life threads of all mortals, past, present, and future, are woven into a single curtain, which obfuscates the stage in preparation for the real show. Though, if the mortal world is not the main production, then what could possibly lurk backstage? But you needn’t concern yourself with these matters. All you need understand is that, when one’s thread of life runs short, an Assigned Reaper is dispatched, with scythe in hand, and winged sandals on foot. They patiently loom in the shadow of their prey, striking only at the appointed time: not a moment too soon, and not a moment too late. Unfortunately, the custom of placing coins under the eyelids of the recently deceased has fallen out of fashion, yet old Charon remains as miserly as ever. Thus, it is often up to the Reaper to scrounge up the fare to ensure the departed’s passage across Styx. Once the soul is in the ferryman’s care, the Reaper’s job is complete. Yet Death is rarely afforded the rest that it offers to mortals. It will not be long before the AR [sic] is given another task, and the cycle begins anew.