**Thanks to you faithful readers for bearing with me on this! I just finished possibly one of the most stressful months of my life with high school graduation, and now finally I can relax and focus on this story a lot more. I'm still leading up to the smut, which I'm actually not looking forward to writing (I feel like a perv though they will be 18 when that time comes). I'm making a parallel universe eventually in which that's actually possible, so stay tuned and let this narrative from our wonderful friend Death tide you over for now! :D

I almost find this as something needless to say: A lot of new words were added to Liesel's painted wall.

When she would venture down to her basement Rudy, grumbling that he "had nothing better to do", would usually join her. There she would paint and he would lie on the floor bouncing a rubber ball against the wall, watching curiously as her golden braid painted the bleak atmosphere.

At times he would even suggest words she could try, and even some names of his favorite track stars were given trial. They would lose notice of time and practice to a point where even Papa couldn't spell some of the words she slashed onto the canvas.

Liesel was usually so intent and focused on her work that no one could snap her out of her trance, but if Rudy so much as cleared his throat she would turn around with a "what?" Hans noticed this one time when he was leaning against the door watching them, a small smirk on his face. Liesel then looked at him like he was interrupting something, his eyes twinkled and he departed.

A few nights later he murmured, "Rosa, come look" over the bed sheets that had been tossed like a salad and Rosa the dressing. She rolled out of bed and followed her husband dozily to the basement conjuring more swear words than the steps they ascended. All train of thought paused for her when she looked through the entryway and saw.

Liesel, sleeping as deeply as anyone would at one in the morning, was strewn across the chest of Rudy, whose arm was a fleshy substitute for her pillow that night.

Rosa whipped around. "What is this madness? How is a boy who isn't even supposed to be out this time at night sleeping with our daughter unsupervised? How could you allow this?"

"I thought it was sweet." Hans smiled.

"Well, you've always been way too sensitive for my taste." Rosa gave him a light slap. "Get that stupid look off your face and help me move them apart."

Together they wrenched Liesel off of Rudy's form without waking either one of them and Hans carried the girl as easily as a paint swatch up to her room. He was almost out of earshot when he heard the womanly screeching that shook a perplexed Rudy out of his slumber.

He tipped Liesel to her resting spot and gave a kiss to her forehead. "Be careful, sweet girl."

The lovely words what reached the hem of Liesel's blouse, right above her beating heart and gently shook her awake to the void of her beloved saukerl. She grabbed the sheets for his body in confusion, and then came to awareness of where she was and what must have happened. To confirm any doubts, Rudy's walk of shame marched past her room and out of the front door.

Her heart ached slightly for him. They had been lying in silence after a hearty make-out session, and in that moment she felt like a tattered old book bound by his leather arms.

She hadn't been aware of time as much, lately. The beauty of the last few months was a rarity for her, and I think back now regretfully at the futile efforts I had been making to slow down time for everyone, for the Germans and the Jews and everyone else in my appointment book. I haven't hated my job more than I did during the Holocaust.

Liesel's relationship with the boy grew. I assume it wasn't in closeness, since they already knew each other as well as they knew themselves. It might have been more in transformation, since they helped each other discover parts that no one knew about. Liesel must have reread these moments from her book quite often since I had to squint to read some of them; words and paper were so crinkled and blotted with thumb marks in places that I would have to crane by head to make out things like "he gave me a whole apple" and "we made love tonight". There was a considerable distance in pages between those two inscriptions.

Sex seems to be a popular topic with humans, young ones especially. There is a point in their lives when they start to associate pleasure with procreation and proceed to romp one another's body parts in order to experience some sort of ecstasy. I never understood it, though if I had a Mrs. Death for company I'll admit I might've tried it out of pure curiosity.

I mulled this over in my head as I became aligned to the finer constellations of Liesel's thoughts, the goings-on in her head whenever she wanted to kiss Rudy a little harder or hold him a little tighter.

At this point in my retelling I suppose I should be glad I was stupid one night, because now I can fill in with another perspective.

Around this period of time, I craved some entertainment. I do this once in a blue moon with the odd human being I become intrigued with. One particular evening, when the body count wasn't as high as usual, I felt a ravenous craving to know a soul.

I can do this. I can taste a soul and find out their secrets, sins and judgements, though it's mildly risky. I searched my rather long memory until I came up with the time of the burning plane in the field, and the dying pilot in the cockpit, and the boy who curiously gave him a teddy bear at if it were his sister in there.

Side note: It is remarkable that I picked him, yes, but it is not coincidence necessarily; I am very good at controlling time, though you probably cannot imagine. I searched an extraordinary amount of other souls as well that same day.

Admittedly, I would have preferred to interview the dead one and asked him what lead him to overseeing the war, how the guns had knocked him out of the sky, and what kind of effect the teddy bear had on him in his dying moments. Unfortunately for me, once a soul passes to the afterlife the experiences it accumulated are locked away for judgement and I am only to hang the soul out to dry.

I must not reveal too much about death – I should stop at that.

Anyways, I decided the boy might make for a fine visit since he was responsible for one of my favorite displays of human compassion in the terrible last few years. I found him in his Himmel street home tucked into bed with a sister, his sleep slightly disturbed. I felt the slight pull of his soul and pulled it closer.

In his spirit I tasted burning love, lust and worry predominantly. Curiosity overtook me and I drew nearer to understand what caused those feelings. The girl was responsible for the lust and joined his family with the love emotion. I recognized her from the death of her brother and from the plane incident. The worry was mainly invoked by Adolf Hitler and his Nazi army, mainly recruiters. I recognized them as well.

Frighteningly I realized how close I was to the poor boy. He was merely inches from my senses, and I was fully responsible for this unnatural occurrence. I pulled back, thinking shame on me. I had done that with a few humans that young and had witnessed repercussions of those inexcusable, consequential acts.

I may have cursed him that night.