So outspoken, so eloquent if he wants to be. Caustic wit is just another weapon of his choice, as cutting to the bone as any.
You giggle and marvel at the scathing shit he says. He can make carnage look beautiful.
Yet this one phrase always ends up lodged in his throat. Even the thought of saying it renders him speechless.
It's as if those simple words were a curse, and he is cursed.
He actually broke the spell once. Before jumping into the Well of Souls. You cried so much, you sobbed hysterically.
So he told you. In a stifled voice, as if it was his ugly secret. It sounded more like an apology than anything else.
And then he went and killed himself because that's the kind of guy that he is.
What followed was an ocean of heartbreak, an eternity of longing. Death came back to you in the end.
Since then he's been expressing himself in myriad ways that don't include speech.
Bending his prideful, distrusting, abrasive nature to accommodate your human need for closeness.
In all ways except one.
You've learned to live with this quirk of his. Some days you would yearn for a full-blown declaration out of a romance novel.
But your life was filled to the brim with romance; the real one. And that's what counted.
When he's taken with something you say or do, or whenever you really rankle him - a quick string of words leave his lips.
Sometimes he mutters under his breath, sometimes it's more of an exasperated sigh. You don't know the language.
To you, it sounds like Mordor speech, but a tad sexier. Then again - Death reading out loud GPS coordinates would be considered sexy, too.
Yet you've learned to recognize the sounds. You've always had a good ear for music. Unbeknown to your lover you've learned those alien words by heart.
Humans have always been noxiously curious.
"Hey, Strife," you asked on one rainy day. The oldest Horseman was away on business, and the rest of you chilled around the fireplace.
"Can you tell me what that means? And sorry for the shitty accent. I'll try my best."
You uttered the whole phrase. And was surprised to see Strife's carefree smile morph into something else entirely.
He frowned hard.
"Where did you get this?" he asked.
"Death says it all the time. Like, all the time."
Strife opened his mouth, snapped it shut, then opened it again. He let out a nervous, prolonged sigh.
It was so uncharacteristic of him - the blabbermouth of the family - that your innocent curiosity went up a notch.
"Is it a curse word? Is it really nasty? Because I wanna know Nephilim curses."
"Erm, no," said Strife slowly. "It's not a curse word. If anything… it's the opposite."
"Then tell me!"
He looked so distraught.
"Look, kid," he said finally, looking you dead in the eye. This was the most serious that you've seen Strife in months.
"I'm sorry, but I cannot. I really shouldn't. It's…not my place to do so, okay? Besides, my brother's gonna behead me with a blunt saw if I do."
"Why the blunt saw?" you asked, chuckling at this exaggerated vision.
"Because it hurts more!"
"Fine", you said and pouted. "I'm gonna ask someone else then. War!"
"What?" the Red Rider emerged from the kitchen, chewing on a fried chicken leg. He held a super-size KFC container under his iron arm.
It was just that kind of day in the Nephilim household.
"What does this mean?" You repeated the whole phrase.
Strife's eyes got wide; he gestured at his brother frantically.
"Don't tell her!"
"Huh?" War swallowed and shot his sibling a baffled stare. "Why not? Little One, your accent is rather nice, by the way."
"Because Death said it!" Strife hissed.
War's broad features froze for a second.
Then his bright eyes flashed with apprehension, which in turn got swept away by the same embarrassment that Strife had shown.
You watched this and got pissed.
"Well then?"
"I probably shouldn't," War muttered and hid his face in the chicken bin.
"Jeez, guys, I just hate it when you are like this! What in the world is it? I am not a child, you know. I can handle a few saucy profanities!"
"What's with all the yelling?" asked an irritated, yet melodic female voice. Fury stuck her head through the door. She looked dishevelled and miffed.
"I was trying to doze off, but it seems impossible with all the ruckus that you're causing, human. What is it this time?"
"Fury! What does this mean? Just answer me."
You repeated the mysterious sounds for the third time.
"Oh, that means 'I love you' in Nephilim", she said matter-of-factly.
Both War and Strife gasped in horror.
"Where on Earth did you get this phrase from, by the way? Haven't heard that one in a while."
"Death…says it" you answered slowly. Suddenly you understood. You understood oh, so much.
Blood drained from your face. You wanted to laugh. You wanted to cry at your own pig-headedness and ignorance.
"He says it all the time."