His face in the dream could not have prepared her for this.

Sophie forgot all thoughts of skeletons, of scythes, and even of Malcolm's glare; for surely this figure before her was the true Reaper, with his black coat and hook at his wrist dripping crimson and dark eyes that cut straight to the deepest parts of her soul. He had dark skin and tired eyes, his mouth on the verge of a mournful frown. She was terrified and enthralled all at once; Sophie stared up at this man, mouth slightly open, her words caught in her throat. He was overwhelming in his presence; he reeked of magnificence, sickly-sweet.

"May I come closer?" He asked, and his voice filled the room without ever rising above a gentle murmur.

"Yes," Sophie said, half-dreaming. His footsteps pulled her away from the dreaminess; but now he was close, and she looked up to meet his gaze.

"Are you afraid?" It was a threat spoken with softness and warmth; she couldn't understand.

"Yes," she said, her answer small.

"Do you know who I am?" He asked, taking one more step forward. She didn't try to back away. She didn't even try to get off the ground.

"Are you Death?" she whispered, and the man smiled, a soft smile as he tilted her chin up with the curve of his hook. It was cold against her skin, a shock against the warmth that had thickened the air around her.

"Only if you will allow me to be," he said, never losing his smile. Sophie stared at him and swallowed, trying to push through the heaviness in her mind, through the fog he'd somehow breathed into her thoughts. "My name, Sophie. Do you know it?" She found one ray of clarity in her mind and grasped onto it, squeezing her knee.

"I don't want to die," she whispered, "please."

"I won't kill you," His words echoed in her head, and she sobbed once, a short and painful gasp in her heavy throat. "unless you invite me. My name, Sophie. Do you know it?"

"I don't know," she said, aware that tears were falling down her cheeks but too lost to understand fully that she was crying. "I'm sorry, I really don't know." Why was she crying? She was afraid, yes, but something else filled her eyes with tears; until this moment, kneeling before this man who was too much to be a man, she had never truly known awe.

"Find it." It was a whisper now, urgent as the gleam in his eyes. He leaned forward and she could feel the tug of the hook's smooth metal on her chin. She lifted her head with it, the rest of her following, until only her knees and her feet touched the ground. "Find my name and call me into your world, Sophie, as you have let me into your soul. I will be waiting for you."

"Why?" She whispered, the only question she could find. His smile was so gentle and inviting as he pushed a strand of hair from her face that for a moment she almost smiled back at him. "Why me?" He didn't answer, instead leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her forehead. Blood trickled down his hook onto her throat, and her skin was torn between the way it made her skin tingle and the softness of his lips, tender in a way she had long forgotten. Sophie closed her eyes, and he pulled away.

"Look for me, Sophie. There is so much waiting for you to discover. And do me this one favor."

"What?" She asked, eyes half-opening, and she looked at him one more time through a haze of golden yellow.

"Wake up."

Her entire body seized, and then the muscles relaxed and clarity came rushing back to her, the honey-fog dispersed. She was still on her knees, her jeans soaked by the puddle she had fallen into, and she was astonishingly cold. More concerning was that she was alone. Her eyes flitted to the ground.

No footprints. She scrambled to her feet and stepped back. She stared. All she could do was stare at the empty space before her.

"Where are you?" She called into the emptiness, but of course nothing answered. "Who are you?" Her cheeks were still wet, and she wiped the tears away with her sleeve, trying to catch her breath. He was gone, just like that, not a trace left behind but her own shock. Sophie looked down at the puddle, staring at her own reflection.

What had that been?

She swallowed, mentally grasping at the fresh and somehow foggy memory. She remembered the man - black, tall, deep-voiced with dark eyes. There had been something strangely sad in those eyes, or what memory she had of them, like an unspoken tragedy followed his footsteps. She remembered falling to her knees, but she wasn't sure why, and she remembered the hook that had been cold and - and this was what worried her - comforting against her scarred skin.

She remembered being awed.

There was something she couldn't explain in that. Physically there was nothing awe-inducing about him. Certainly the hook and his rotted wrist were a haunting sight, but those were awful, not awe-inspiring. She blinked, shaking her head, trying to understand why she had looked at a man and thought she'd seen something like a god. She got to her feet and looked ahead of her; and all at once she realized she was facing the same corridor she had when she took the picture. The whole building, in fact, had simplified; the maze of before was gone, in its place a skeleton of simpler, more honest architecture. She walked towards the wall in the dark, the one where he had been painted; the colors were faded and the stone eroded, but she could see lines, the suggestion of an artwork lost to time.

Her phone buzzed. She answered it with a shaking hand.

"Hello?"

"Sophie, it's Marcus. I just got out of questioning. You want to join me and some of the others for dinner? We all need to get our minds off the murder." She couldn't see him, but could imagine the shudder nonetheless. "Yeesh!"

"Yes, that sounds good," she said, swallowing and forcing her knees to hold steady as she started to walk away from this strange den. "Where are you all going? I'll meet you there. I need to make a quick stop to the library first."

"We're getting burgers, I'll text you the details. What do you need at the library? Candle-making books?"

"Not really," she said, stepping into the sunlight and drinking in the city air, "I just wanted to learn some history about this part of the city."

I need to know his name. The seed of curiosity, of fascination, had been planted, thought she wasn't sure why. His name - it had seemed so urgent to him that she know it. She needed to know it, even if that hook still gleamed hungrily in her mind's eye. He'd said he wouldn't hurt her.

Unless I ask. What was that supposed to mean?

As she walked to the bus stop and took one last glance at the building, her stomach turned just a little, burning with the need to be at ease, the need to know.

So I love writing my usual stuff, and I'm never gonna drop Hellraiser as my main fandom... but I think this is some of the best writing I've ever done here. Hopefully I'll get the next update done sooner rather than later. Let me know what you think!