Hello, my dear friends. Welcome to this small outlet of my inspiration. Now take a seat, and enjoy the story. All I ask is this: as you read, contemplate for yourselves the philosophy behind the story. Think on what Death means; and what rules really are. Think on the reason of our existence, and come up with your own conclusions.

And review, of course.

Disclaimer: I do not own, or have any affiliation with the owners of either Tangled ofr the personification of Death.

And now…

The Hunter

Gothel crept along the hillside path. She'd made it, she recalled, long ago, to make the journey easier. So it would be faster. She was once again headed up the hill to the Flower.

She didn't like taking the annual trip. Oh, she loved the feeling of youth coursing through her body like fire. She loved the glow of the Flower as its power entered her. But still, she went only once a year. It should be more often, she grew old between times, but every time she made the trip, she had to meet…

"Back again, Gothel?"

Ah, yes. There he was.

Gothel turned slowly to face the rocky cliffs beside her, and looked up. There stood, atop the cliff, a young man, with pale skin, black hair, ice-blue eyes, and a bony, malnourished frame. He stared down at her, saying nothing more than he already had.

"Yes," she said flatly, though inside, she quailed. She didn't know what the man was, but he wasn't human. She had seen his true form once before, the first time he'd come, just after the Flower came. He was skeletal, with black raven's wings, seven feet tall if an inch, and instead of eyes, iridescent, blue stars glimmering in his sockets. "Why shouldn't I?"

"We are getting angry," he replied softly. "The Emperor's patience wanes. You would do well to surrender yourself. Defiance, in the end, is useless."

Gothel ignored him. The Flower was before her once again. As she looked at it she slowly reached out, touched the petals, and began to sing.

"Flower gleam and glow,

Let your power shine,

Make the clock reverse,

Bring back what once was mine.

Heal what has been hurt,

Change the fate's design,

Save what has been lost,

Bring back what once was mine.

What once was mine."

The young man merely watched. Suddenly, as soon as the song was complete, they both heard the sound of voices and stamping feet.

"Guards," murmured the man. "They come for the Flower."

Gothel quickly hid the Flower from view under the dome she'd made for just that purpose, and fled. As she ran, she never noticed that her hand had knocked against the dome and tipped it over revealing the Flower. The man did notice, however, and his eyes shone with triumph as he melted into the shadows.

Gothel trotted briskly through the woods. It was a three day journey to the sea, and she wanted to be home as soon as possible. She never liked leaving Rapunzel for more than a couple hours at a time. She'd already lost the Flower once; she was very cautious about letting it out of her sight now. Although, quite honestly, she had long since stopped thinking of Rapunzel impersonally as simply 'the Flower'. In eighteen years of caring for the girl, although admittedly only to further her own ends, she had truly come to love the girl, almost as a mother; though not as much as either her love of herself or her fear of death. And she did fear death. She knew, better than anyone else what—or rather who—was waiting for her…

"It's been a long time, Gothel."

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

Gothel glared at the thin man, who looked quite the same as he ever had. He had not aged a day. Naturally.

"Eighteen years," she said. "And still far too little. Why bother appearing now, after so long?"

He smirked. "The Flower sees things as they are," he said. "She would not see the illusion you do. You know what she would see."

"So what?" Gothel snapped. "You had no problem terrifying me."

"You broke the Edicts," he said, his eyes flaring, seeming incandescent; everything seemed to darken around her suddenly. "She has not. I will stalk you until the day you die. She need meet me only once."

"Lucky girl," she muttered, and before he could reply, she asked, "How do you even find the time the stalk me like this? Don't you have other jobs to do?"

He snorted. "Do you know anything about point incarnation, node focusing, and elemental cone theory?"

"No."

"Then call it magic."

"Do you mean you can be in lots of different places at once?"

"That will do."

There was a moment's silence as she walked on along the lonely trail, and he followed. Lichen and moss surrounded them on all sides, on the trees and rocks. It was oddly silent; the birds and insects seemed to have fallen silent when the man appeared. Gothel didn't blame them. She knew she wouldn't be chirping or twittering if he was around and she had wings to fly.

Suddenly the man broke her contemplation by saying, "Something's hiding behind the rock there. The branches wouldn't bend that way normally. And based on your world's absurd sense of humor, I'd say it's probably a horse."

Gothel looked forward and say that a rock and tree branch had formed the exact replica of a horse, with yellow fruit for eyes. And the man proved correct – there was a horse, a palace horse, hiding behind the rock. He leapt forward, and at once looked disappointed.

"Oh," she muttered, after getting over her surprise. "A palace horse." Then her eyes widened. "Where's your rider?" and spinning around, she cried out, "RAPUNZEL?" as she rushed back to her tower.

After she had left, the man smirked, and looked at the horse. "Good boy," he murmured, reaching out to touch its flank. It recoiled, and trotted away quickly, but the man wasn't bothered. He was staring after Gothel. "The Void claims its own," he whispered. "You spent your sands a long time ago, Gothel. It's already over." And the darkness claimed him.

Gothel stared down at the lifeless husk of dust and robes beneath her feet. The world was in monochrome, and, once again, the man stood beside her. But he was a man no longer. The seven-foot, black winged skeleton contemplated her with its shining, blue eyes. "You knew this was coming," it said in its cold, lifeless, deep voice. "And yet you seem surprised. Why?"

"You were Mortal once, you said," she replied in a rather shell – shocked voice. "I think you know the answer to that."

It grinned (having no alternative) and said, "I suppose so. Death always comes as a surprise. If you knew when and how you would die, you might simply not live at all."

"Probably not," she agreed. She hesitated. "What's it like, after death? What happens?"

"Depends."

"Ah."

She looked down at all that remained of herself for a time, before the skeleton coughed like dry dust, breaking her contemplation, and asked, "May we go?"

She ignored it, and said, "You know, now I think about it, I really did make a lot of horrible choices. Not the use of the Flower, that wasn't immoral, just an honest mistake. But everything afterward, from keeping it to myself, to killing that lad –"

"Eugene. He's not dead, you know. He's got a life ahead of him."

"Really? That's good, but trying to kill him, anyway. All of that was just wrong. If I could go back, I'd change it all."

"What does it matter?" asked the skeleton, then before she could reply, he added, "And anyway, this is an Angelic Universe. Everything that happens does good in the long run here. You were, in the end, an instrument of Light. Now may we go?"

Gothel looked back down at the pile of robes and dust that was once her once, for the last time, and then turned to the skeleton. "I'm ready," she whispered.

And the Angel of Death claimed Gothel as his own.