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twenty-four

Grim

I could feel the soft rise and fall of her breath beside me, the echo of it somehow deeper than the storm outside.

It was odd, our proximity. Strange in a way that unsettled something deep inside me, something I had buried long ago, far too long ago , until it resurfaced and began to gnaw at me once more.

Her face softened under the moonlight that filtered through the window and her breath was steady, but beneath it all I could feel the faintest tremor in her, a hint of the nightmare that had pulled her from the depths of sleep not long ago.

I’d felt her fear. Her pulse had quickened when the storm rattled the walls of the cottage, and she pulled away from me as though instinctively knowing the dangers of the night.

But now? Now she was calm, her body relaxed under the heavy blanket.

For a moment, I almost wished I could sleep like that too. Without the endless ticking of time in my head, without the knowledge that I would never truly rest.

I had no use for sleep or for dreams. I had no use for any of this. For the food, drink, clothes, the house and its things, the bounds of human consciousness. I could shake it off, just as easy as the rain that would be swept away by the soft autumn sun.

This form was conjured, by my hand, if only to appease her, and to comfort those I had to ferry.

I picked it for myself the moment I saw her in the middle of the road, and she’d caused my brow to furrow in wonder.

My judgment was clouded the day that I met her.

She was nothing like I had ever encountered before, or envisioned.

What is Death supposed to do with a mortal who defies the natural law of things? She was… is , an anomaly.

And yet…

I swallowed hard, adjusting my position slightly as if the shift would lessen the pull in my chest.

I shouldn’t be this close. This was too much.

But there she was, near enough that I could almost feel the warmth of her skin bleeding into mine. It made everything inside me tighten, that strange knot forming in my gut.

I had no right to feel this. No right to want her. To want anything about her, or to covet what she had. What she was…

Mortality. Love. Finality.

It was such an absurd thought, one I never allowed myself to indulge in. And yet, there it was, impossible to ignore—she might be my one chance.

I closed my eyes, my hand twitching toward her hair, the soft strands still damp from the sweat of her nightmare. The need to touch her was nearly unbearable.

But I couldn’t.

I was Death. I was the end.

I have been a bystander in the lives of others for far too long. I have watched as mortals lived and died, loved and lost, but it was always through glass, always from the outside.

Her scent lingered in the air, sweet and comforting, mixing with the heavy scent of rain and the lingering energy of the storm.

I felt that pull again, that ache deep within me.

She didn’t know it, but she was everything I couldn’t have.

Everything I wanted. She was the one thing that made me feel as though I wasn’t trapped in an endless cycle.

I hated how badly I longed to know what it was like to be human, to experience life the way she did.

To love her, with no eternity standing in the way.

No curse to shadow every touch, every fleeting moment.

No power to steal the simplicity of existence, to feel joy, pain, loss…

to feel something unburdened by consequence.

Fate told me it was all right to speak the truth aloud. To admit that I was a plague who dreamt of being a person.

Astoria believed she was cursed, but at least she could give life. Perhaps that was the morose irony of it—that in trying to create something new, I would only leave behind grief; ruin as a consequence of mercy.

In all my eternity, I’d never been given a choice. Or a thread, as Feo named it. Her shelves, filled with tragic tomes chronicling humanity's bitter beginnings and sweet ends, reminded me daily of what I could never have.

Born from the very fabric of the universe, I was created to govern and to balance life’s fragile creation.

There was no room for wishful thinking, no space for idle fantasies of grandeur.

Yet, as I glanced around my room, I realize that maybe my obsession began long before Astoria ever crossed my path.

Her body shifted slightly, and I froze, stilling myself in an instant, but she didn’t wake. Her face remained soft, the hint of vulnerability still visible even in sleep.

I couldn’t help but think that this is what I wanted…

What I could never have.

Her life. Her heartbeat. Her fragility.

If I could live for just one day as a mortal, just to know what it was like to love without restraint, to experience the finite, I would give anything. I would trade it all, the power, the knowledge, the eternity, just for that one fleeting moment.

It made no sense. I exhaled slowly, letting my gaze linger on her once more. There was something about her presence here, in my bed, in my space, that unsettled me in the most profound way.

She had no idea.

But that was the thing with mortals. They never knew how much power they had, how they could change everything with a smile, with a word, with a single touch.

And in this moment, I could feel it. I could feel how close I was to losing control. How close I was to breaking every rule I had ever made, to defying everything I was.

But I would let her sleep.

For now.

And when she awoke, I would be Death again.

A sharp howl pierced the skies, the cries of the dead slicing their way into my mind once more.

The sound was a cacophony of lost souls, each one reaching out in the darkness, pleading, yearning, needing the final release that only I could give.

My head pounded, my skin vibrating with that cosmic itch, the persistent and gnawing reminder that I was never off duty .

I groaned, slumping back into the pillows, careful not to wake Astoria.

She still slept peacefully beside me, her breath soft and steady.

The wailing grew louder, more insistent, pushing against the walls of my mind, crashing through the protective barrier I’d built.

I knew better than to ignore it. Souls that had already passed, displaced, lingering in the realm of the living…

They needed to be released. Their restlessness had been growing for days, a plague of unrest that I had been avoiding. And it was because of her.

Astoria.

In my care for her, I’d forgotten. How many days had I laid unconscious in bed? My body wore the marks reminding me that the longer I ignored them, the stronger they’d grow. Not all souls passed peacefully from this life, and there would soon be a war at my door if I didn’t see to it.

I clenched my fists, feeling the pressure in my chest intensify.

It was a deep and oppressive force. With a slow, agonizing breath, I pushed myself up, wincing at the sharp stab of pain that shot through my back, a reminder of the toll this cursed existence had on me.

My body was not made for comfort. It had never been.

It was designed for service, for death .

I stole once last glance over at Astoria, her features soft and serene in the quiet of the room. I could feel her warmth still radiating from where she lay, and for a second, I wanted to crawl back beside her, to forget about the cries, to pretend that for once, I wasn’t needed.

But then the wails surged again, a piercing shriek that rattled through me like a broken chord. The souls were restless. They were ready.

I closed my eyes, drew in calm, and let the silence catch my words. “I’m sorry.”

Rising from the bed, I was careful not to disturb her, and pulled on the jacket that hung near the door.

The dark fabric settled around my shoulders like a shroud.

The wind outside howled against the walls of the cottage, but my attention was no longer on that.

It was on the urgency of the souls, the finality of what I had to do.

Making my way outside, I reached for the gates—the ancient metal barrier that separated the mortal realm from the space I commanded.

My hands moved over the rusted surface, murmuring the necessary words.

The air thickened, the very fabric of reality bending as I opened them, slipping through the portal, the weight of my duty locked tight with an iron chain.

In the blink of an eye, I was no longer in the cottage.

The world shifted around me, folding into itself akin to pages of an ancient book, and I emerged into a remote village, tucked away beneath rolling mountains.

The air was warm with the scent of tropical flowers and the hum of daily life.

People moved with purpose as children laughed, and birds called to one another.

But in the distance, there was a stillness. A pulse that didn’t belong.

I moved through the village, my presence unnoticed by those around me. It wasn’t my job to be seen, but to be felt, to arrive when a life had run its course, no matter how far or near. No matter the time.

The house stood on the edge of the village, an unassuming structure with painted walls in faded pastels and flowers growing in wild clusters along the sides. I stepped inside without knocking, as I always did, and found the elderly woman in her bed, surrounded by family.

Her name was Carmen and she had lived nearly a century, her face etched with the stories of the world. Her children and grandchildren sat at her side, her frail hand held gently by her youngest granddaughter, who spoke words of love into her ear.

I watched, as I always did, before I approached.

Her breathing had slowed, the rise and fall of her chest barely perceptible.

She had lived a full life—married the love of her life, had children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and watched the world change around her.

She had lived through joy and hardship, laughter and tears. And now, the end was here.

Reaching for her hand, I felt her fingers trembled as they curled around mine—still strong with life, but fading. The room fell silent, save for the sound of the wind outside.

"Es hora, senora." My voice was a soft murmur, the same words I always used when it was time. Time to leave the world, but never to be forgotten.

I placed my other hand gently on her chest, feeling the last beat of her heart, slow but steady. The family gathered closer, sensing what was happening but not yet ready to let go. I could feel their love, their grief, their gratitude for her long life.

“Thank you,” I murmured to Carmen, and to them all. “Thank you for your strength. Your love. Your life.”

With that, I took her final breath from her, a soft exhale that echoed in the room like a fading song. The room was still for a moment, the weight of it hanging in the air, before her soul lifted from her, glowing bright in the corner of the room.

Her soul was a tapestry of memories—love, loss, the laughter of children, the quiet moments of contentment that fill a life. As I gently cradled it in my hands, I felt it. The beauty of her life, now wrapped in light, her energy ready to move on.

My hands trembled.

Very rarely had I ever crushed a soul. It was the kind of death you don’t come back from, no matter what you believe. It was a detestable end, saved only for the worst souls among them. But my fingers faltered.

The tension in my brow grew more incessant as I studied the fragile soul nestled in my palm. I would never crush Carmen’s soul, but jealousy was a swift and dangerous current and I felt a sharp pain of sadness.

Astoria’s close proximity lately was beginning to make me yearn…

I loosened my hold and turned to leave, desperate to leave my sickening thoughts behind.

The casita held her families tears, as they held each other. Her legacy would continue with them, in every memory and every story she had left behind. They would carry her in their hearts, and one day, they too would cross over, leaving their own legacies.

I turned, my feet already pulling me toward the door, but as I passed the family, I stopped for a moment, placing a hand on the shoulder of the granddaughter who had held Carmen’s hand. A gesture of comfort, even if she felt it as a shudder of cold.

And with that, I stepped back into the shadows of the world, the gates of death waiting to carry her on.

They weren’t all like that, but when they were, it made it easier to live with myself.