Think "universal apocalypse". It has to happen sometime, doesn't it?
We exist because they know, deep in their hearts, that we exist.
His hand ghosted across the face of the yellowing page, microscopic pieces of paper flaking off underneath his fingers; and then, for a fleeting moment, complete stillness, before he slowly adjusted the position of his hand so it rested beneath the ancient book's front cover. The other pulled itself free from the spine, and in the lonesome silence the realm was nestled in, Death could hear her brother's bones creaking in protest of the foreign movement as the book closed with a light thud.
"That is the end." There was almost struggling in the way he spoke, with dry, cracking lips shaking as they formed words that were not written in his pages. Death watched him as he talked -- watched every movement he made with curious eyes, noticing for the first time the way that the corners of his mouth were turned downwards in a frown that deepened the wrinkles in his aging face; the reddened splotch of skin on his wrist where the metal cuffs that bound him to the book chafed him; and the milky whiteness in his eyes that blocked his view of the world.
It made her realize how old he really was, and yet how it seemed too soon for him to die -- for any of them to die. But most of them already had, and her eyes closed gently in remembrance.
Dream, for once, not correcting her for calling him "Danny", instead giving her a ghost of a grin before whispering goodbye. Despair's faint smile as she allowed her older sister to brush her lips against her forehead. Desire's final witty remarks about the end of the Endless. Destruction's admittance to missing his siblings. The way Delirium's eyes matched in a moment of almost-sanity as she theorized that since she could see dead people in dreams, maybe they could see each other, too; and then the way the young girl smiled and promised she'd find her older sister in the Dreaming someday as she flung herself into Death's arms and hugged tightly.
A pale finger wiped stinging tears from her eyes, and she smiled placidly despite herself. "It had to come sometime." The being (for an idea can't really be called a woman) let out a small sigh, kind eyes looking upwards at her kin for perhaps the last time. "Are you ready?"
For a long while, there was silence, and the lifelessness in Destiny's garden became eerily apparent. The trees and plants that used to flourish were brown and flaking with rot; the ponds were lying motionless; the wind had ceased to blow long, long ago in another land entirely, breathing its last shuddering breath against Death's lips; and all but two of the giant statues of the Endless decorated the ground with their shattered remains. Destiny found himself lowering his head, the shadows of his hood covering most of his face as he took a deep breath -- just to make sure he still could. The air tasted bitter and cold; almost poisonous. He pressed his lips together in a thin line before grunting in affirmation, "I'm ready."
A soft, white hand rested itself on top of his, the contrast in their skin making the difference in their age glaringly obvious as Death leaned in towards her brother. Inhaling through her nose, she took in the comforting scent of Destiny -- of old libraries and dusty books and of knowing everything there is to know -- and her ebony lips pressed against her sibling's cheek.
Death could taste salt as she pulled away, and on Destiny's fading face there was the faint trail of a tear.