Author's note: my dear readers, this is something that came out in one breath. For those who are waiting for the next chapter of 'Forevermore': my dear, patient readers, I have not abandoned the story. It is just that I prefer quality to quantity. The second chapter is ready and is currently undergoing revision; for now I offer you to enjoy this oneshot.
In the mournful, sullied night, the Death strode, stalking abroad. They wandered through the dense dead forests flooded with black rainwater, through the dark empty fields submerged in yellow fog, through the crowded jungles of crumbling stone and shattering glass and through the rivers filled with decaying waste. They walked and walked, their surroundings meaning nothing to them, until they had reached their destination.
The home that was about to be visited by the Death stood out from every other, and even though it was defiled and tainted and rotten just like the world around it, it still looked whole from the inside, as if the cruel universe had not damaged the purity and warmth within, as if the outer shell did not reflect the home's inner nature. Warm, yellow light was glimmering through the heavy draperies covering the dirty windows. The staggering staircase firmly supported the Death's step as they approached the front door. Their signature three soft knocks echoed in the emptiness of the home.
The Death entered. A man was sitting on the couch in the warm parlor, his head in his hands, empty bottles littering the table. The damp air around the two stenched with heavy alcohol.
The man lifted his head adorned with blonde locks that certainly looked much more lively back in the days of his youth, back then when his hair had not been stained with grey, back then when his stature had been rigid and powerful. The man lifted his head and look at the Death: his face was old and so terribly, terribly tired.
"Death..." the man rasped. "I knew you would come."
The Death's sad golden eyes regarded the man softly, and their calm voice overclocked the impending silence.
"I came for her. You know..."
The man's shoulders raked with a violent sob, all tears long dried, all that remained from his destroyed soul breaking once again under the weight of his sorrow.
"Yes... I know."
The man stood up and, without any word, walked to the door that led further into the home. Her home.
The Death followed silently.
The door creaked open; the Death and the man entered her chamber. Upon the large bed in the center of the room lay her, a transparent and decayed phantom of what she had once been, her sometime ago bright golden hair sprayed around her head like a halo. Her faded crystal blue eyes fluttered open to look at the incomers.
"Has my time come?" she whispered weakly.
The Death sighed. "Yes, my dear."
Her eyes closed, as she turned her head to the right to hide herself from the Death's sad gaze. The man that stood behind, in the doorway, wiped away a single tear that managed to form in his dry red eyes.
The Death approached the bed, their every soft step resonating within the quiet walls of her home with silent pledges and unfulfilled promises. Her eyes opened again to look up at the Death, in her eyes anticipation and understanding of what was to come.
Their long, white, bony fingers reached out from under the black material that covered their skeletal body to brush a touch upon her withered, dry skin; immediately, it began to shine with an ethereal glow.
A smile spread across her suddenly once more full and rosy lips. "Oh, I feel so alive!" she said, reacting to their touch that was both enlivening and condemning. "I see a light, and I feel so alive!"
She lifted herself from the bed, pushing the soft, warm blanket away, and stood on the cold wooden floor, barefooted, how holding the Death's hand. She turned her head and smiled towards the sad, sad man that still stood in the doorway and only saw a decaying corpse in a cold bed. She reached out to the man with her voice, granting a last goodbye.
The man stood there, hearing nothing, choosing to be condemned by the Death's touch.
The woman squeezed the Death's bony palm, choosing to be enlivened in the afterlife.
And the Death led her though the realms both mortal and eternal, she once again a young girl, full of life and happiness, they but an empty shell that hid a thousand of universes under its black coverings.
And she was happy again, when the Death, still holding her hand, showed her the beauty of death and the eternity of every best thing she had chosen to fill her life with.
And she was happy.
Even in death.