Disclaimer: I don't own RHPS or Discworld's death

A/N: this is probably triggering. Well, definitely triggering. I've become awfully upset about the fact that I can barely write (sorry, I'm very selfish and lazy and a bad writer) so I'm posting all I can. I envy those who can write and pity those reading this because I'm so stupid. Also, killing yourself isn't clever because it's cowardly and hard to get away with these days.

It was dark here. Dark and lonely, trapped alone on Earth...

Magenta lived in her mind there. Her skin was sallow and her eyes lifeless thanks to lack of eating and general disregard for herself. The memories of what happened before her banishment were more real than this place.

They'd cut her lovely red hair terribly short to hurt her dear brother even more in his last moments. She hadn't looked in the mirror since then. Still she remembered the blood dripping from his various wounds. Those monsters had nailed him to a pole then left him to rot. It was called crucifixion and Frank had learned it from Earthlings.

That man was dead now, but his notes on Earth weren't.

After that most gruesome killing of Magenta's beloved brother, she'd been exiled to Earth. The first time she'd been trapped there her brother had been with her. That's the only reason she'd survived. And the knowledge that she'd go home soon enough. Now her brother was dead and she wasn't leaving. It was horrible.

One day, after a restless night, she thought of an idea. There was one cute for this loneliness: death. Yes, that would work well. Nothing else could save her.

Cheerfully humming the Time Warp, she went looking for a knife. Something really sharp.

Thankfully this didn't take very long. The castle she'd been given had a large kitchen full of cooking supplies. Pretty, sharp knives.

Soon enough Mags found something that appeared sharp enough. Still humming she tested it on her arm. It pierced the skin with delightful ease. That was wonderful.

She began sawing at her arm. Not the wrist, initially, but the crook of her elbow. The skin was thinner there and the veins more accessible. Too soon that became boring. So she lifted up her skirt and sliced her legs. Then she laughed happily. After the pale skin of her legs was dripping with red the knife moved to her chest. The top of her dress was shredded - just like the skin of her breasts. The contrast of red against her fair flesh was strangely pretty. So pretty...

There was dizziness. The quick loss of blood was taking its toll.

Then, rather briefly, everything went black.

"OH SOD. THIS ISN'T A PRETTY SIGHT. I SHOULD HAVE SENT SUSAN, SHE'S LESS NERVOUS ABOUT SUCH THINGS..." said an ancient voice, a voice nearly as old as life.

He's the opposite of life, though. His name is DEATH and he's got an adopted granddaughter called Susan Sto Helit. Like most things it's a long story. A story that Magenta didn't know - nor one she needed to know. All she knew was that there was a skeleton standing over her holding a scythe and trying to look solemn.

Thanks to his skull-face he just seemed to smile. It was slightly endearing, his attempts to appear human!

"I'm dead, yes?" Magenta asked.

"YOU RE DEAD AND I'M DEATH," the grinning reaper replied. "I'M HERE TO SHOW YOU TO YOUR AFTERLIFE."

"My afterlife?"

"THE ONE YOU BELIEVE IN. IT'S LUCKY THAT YOU THINK KILLING THE PRINCE WAS RIGHT. IF YOU HADN T YOU WOULD BE BURNING IN THAT UNPLEASANT HELL YOU LOT INVENTED. WHAT DEPRESSING IMAGINATIONS YOU HAVE!"

Magenta - or, rather, her spirit - laughed awkwardly. "Right. So where do I go?"

"TO THAT LOVELY PLACE YOU AND YOU RE BROTHER ALWAYS DREAMED OF. THE PLACE WITH ALL THE RELATIVES THAT DIED AND YOUR-"

"My stillborn baby?"

DEATH's eyes twinkled. "YES."

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