She wasn't allowed to actually take life, unless her realm was threatened. She helped those who had lost it on to the next realm, she eased their journey (or hindered it, if it was sufficiently deserved). She did not kill.
She had to remind herself that again and again, as she stood in the corner of a little shit hole apartment building, staring at the woman who she knew would kill her brother.
She was not allowed to kill, and yet it would be so easily to step forward, break the pathetic little circle that protected Lyta, and snap her neck. Slit her throat. Maybe just destroy her fragile little mind. Anything it took to save him.
She'd never felt like this before, she'd never actually wanted to kill. She'd never felt rage building up inside her, causing a pressure behind her forehead and her fists to clench so tightly that her fingernails cut into the flesh and, if she had been human, blood would have welled.
She wanted to kill her, wanted it desperately, and she might just do so. After all, not all harm was physical. Dream's death... it would hurt her more then anything she could imagine. It was true that there would be another, and the Powers that Be (cruel bastards that they were) just expected that everyone would be fine with pretending he was the only one, that none had come before. And if it were any other of her siblings she may have been able to do just that. But with Morpheus....
He would not thank her if she went through with it. He would bluster, and rage, and most likely refuse to talk with her for a century or two. But he would be alive, and well.
And eventually he'd just unconsciously arrange his death once again. Despite her love for him, she didn't know how to make him happy again. She could be there for him, and she could support him as much as she could, but unless he could release his heart from the pain of killing Orpheus he would never again be content.
"I know you're there," said the witch-woman (what name was she going by now? Trikala? Magnisia?), staring intently into the corner she was in. "I'm not quite sure which one you are, though I have my guesses. So, are you going to do it?"
She said all this calmly, her face expressionless, and suddenly Death hated her more then she'd ever contemplated possible. Lyta at least had never had any fondness for Dream, or he for her. She at least had misplaced grief over her son driving her actions. But Dream had loved the witch. Loved her enough to go with Delirium on her quest in the hopes of finding her. She had once claimed to love him as well. How could she sell him out for so little? Her face hardened as she made herself visible. "Why did you do it... Karditsa?"
"Larissa." The witch shrugged, and pushed up her glasses. "A few things I've done in the past will be forgotten. A debt or two will be repaid. I'll live awhile longer. What does it matter? I'm sure he'll find a way around it, the cunning bastard. It's not as though they were asking me to kill him myself."
"No. I don't believe he'll find away around it. I believe he might sabotage himself."
"Hmm." If Death didn't know better she'd almost think that was a flicker of grief in the witch-woman's eye. "I can't do a thing about that, but the circle is cast against Dream alone. You can always cross it." She reached into her bag and pulled out a sharp knife, and handed it to Death. "I'll even give you a weapon to do it with."
The witch watched Death intently as she looked from the knife to Lyta. She loved Death. She loved him enough to break the laws that bond her, to kill.
His life was miserable.
She loved him.
She loved him enough to let him go.
The knife fell to the ground as she vanished.
She had to remind herself that again and again, as she stood in the corner of a little shit hole apartment building, staring at the woman who she knew would kill her brother.
She was not allowed to kill, and yet it would be so easily to step forward, break the pathetic little circle that protected Lyta, and snap her neck. Slit her throat. Maybe just destroy her fragile little mind. Anything it took to save him.
She'd never felt like this before, she'd never actually wanted to kill. She'd never felt rage building up inside her, causing a pressure behind her forehead and her fists to clench so tightly that her fingernails cut into the flesh and, if she had been human, blood would have welled.
She wanted to kill her, wanted it desperately, and she might just do so. After all, not all harm was physical. Dream's death... it would hurt her more then anything she could imagine. It was true that there would be another, and the Powers that Be (cruel bastards that they were) just expected that everyone would be fine with pretending he was the only one, that none had come before. And if it were any other of her siblings she may have been able to do just that. But with Morpheus....
He would not thank her if she went through with it. He would bluster, and rage, and most likely refuse to talk with her for a century or two. But he would be alive, and well.
And eventually he'd just unconsciously arrange his death once again. Despite her love for him, she didn't know how to make him happy again. She could be there for him, and she could support him as much as she could, but unless he could release his heart from the pain of killing Orpheus he would never again be content.
"I know you're there," said the witch-woman (what name was she going by now? Trikala? Magnisia?), staring intently into the corner she was in. "I'm not quite sure which one you are, though I have my guesses. So, are you going to do it?"
She said all this calmly, her face expressionless, and suddenly Death hated her more then she'd ever contemplated possible. Lyta at least had never had any fondness for Dream, or he for her. She at least had misplaced grief over her son driving her actions. But Dream had loved the witch. Loved her enough to go with Delirium on her quest in the hopes of finding her. She had once claimed to love him as well. How could she sell him out for so little? Her face hardened as she made herself visible. "Why did you do it... Karditsa?"
"Larissa." The witch shrugged, and pushed up her glasses. "A few things I've done in the past will be forgotten. A debt or two will be repaid. I'll live awhile longer. What does it matter? I'm sure he'll find a way around it, the cunning bastard. It's not as though they were asking me to kill him myself."
"No. I don't believe he'll find away around it. I believe he might sabotage himself."
"Hmm." If Death didn't know better she'd almost think that was a flicker of grief in the witch-woman's eye. "I can't do a thing about that, but the circle is cast against Dream alone. You can always cross it." She reached into her bag and pulled out a sharp knife, and handed it to Death. "I'll even give you a weapon to do it with."
The witch watched Death intently as she looked from the knife to Lyta. She loved Death. She loved him enough to break the laws that bond her, to kill.
His life was miserable.
She loved him.
She loved him enough to let him go.
The knife fell to the ground as she vanished.