BB says: Gonna be honest guys; this is a transition chapter. Not much action here.

Rating: Teen.

Disclaimer: I own nothing! None the things! Not Soul Eater and not the works of Edgar Allen Poe!

"The stairs almost killed him. Honestly, he couldn't understand how children were able to bound up them every day with no issue whatsoever; even as he huffed and puffed his way forward several sprinted past him, looking at the visitor curiously. He was strangely ashamed, although surely his reaction to such a strenuous activity was normal for a normal person. He wasn't one to keep in shape, to run miles and hunt demons and whatever else the students of this prestigious school were expected to do. He was a nurse, a scholar; his free time was spent in libraries and medical offices, not swinging weapons. He was certain that that would be breaking a part of his Hippocratic oath.

'Well hello Mr. Ford!' Lord Death gushed as Otto finally made it to what was called the Death Room. The reaper wore a goofy mask that, if not for whose face it laid upon, would have been comical. Otto glanced about a bit as he slowly entered Death's domain. Ox's letters hadn't been lying; the room was some sort of phenomena. It was like the actual sky was above them and the ground below, blackened figures strewn across the room were oddly solemn in the sunny presence of the room. It was somewhat unnerving.

'Hello, Lord, er, Death,' Otto started awkwardly, wiping the sweat from his brow. His spiked brown hair was damp and falling into his eyes. 'Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.'

'No problem, none at all!' The reaper chirped. 'Your little brother is one of my best students! And you do have something quite important to share, don't you? At least Ox made it sound that way!' Otto cleared his throat. 'Yes. I promise to make this worth your time.'

'I'm sure you will.' It was possible to hear the smile in Lord Death's voice. Otto smiled back.

'I'm in training to become a nurse,' he began slowly, like he was feeling his way with his words. 'And a few months ago I was interning at an old folk's village. It was a pretty prestigious gig. I mean, I was just a second semester freshman at med school and already…I was really proud, you know? And super psyched to be able to help people. That's the whole reason I want to become a nurse, to help people on a personal level doctors don't always have the time for. So I dedicated myself to focusing on the patients that no one else wanted, no one else dared to approach socially. The ones that were too far gone or on the way out.' He sighed. 'That's how I met Mr. Xavier. He was one of the older patrons. He's been there for...gosh, I don't know. Even orderlies who'd been there for over a decade couldn't remember when he'd arrived. And by the time I got there he was already disappearing. I held his hand as he died.'

'I'm sorry to hear that.'

'Thank you. But…it was his time to go, I guess. He had lived a very long time and was able to do things off a bucket list that must have been miles long. In those rare lucid moments he had, he would sometimes tell me stories. Stuff about mystic trees and magical adventures, necklaces and enchanted children. The story was somewhat...wild. And unbelievable. I didn't quite understand all that he said. His brain was garbled at the end but I guess on some level he must have been aware of my support. And I guess he took that as... friendship?' Otto laughed sadly. 'I feel bad, now that I look back on it. I must've been the closest thing he had to family at the end. No one ever came to see him and he never got any calls. He wound up bequeathed his research to the last person on earth who talked to him, who tried to listen.' Otto shrugged awkwardly. 'Me. So I came to possess heaps and heaps of notes and maps and odds and ends that didn't look like anything I had ever seen before. I thought it was all just junk. I mean, he seemed like he was an interesting old guy but I resented the fact he had treated me like some sort of recycling bin…' the young man had the decency to look sheepish.

'I couldn't understand his actions. I posted some of his stuff online, hoping to sell it, only to find a lot of it was worthless. So I thought to throw it away, and I was going to, too, before I actually started reading his journals. My curiosity made me open them. Like I just had to know…I just had to know if there was any validity to the stories he had told me.' Otto shrugged. 'I then noticed that his journals and his maps coincided, as did his collection of news stories he gathered from around the world. Talking about freak disasters. He told me, before they died, that all those phenomena had to do with one child, a little girl he had traveled with many years ago.'

Lord Death was silent and his visitor took that as a cue to continue. He held up a thick manuscript he'd brought with him. The pages were yellowing and bits of paper were sticking out from within its folds. The leather that made up the cover was cracked and dry, the color of ancient ash.

'So I thought "hey, why not piece it all together? Maybe it'll be fun. I need a hobby." It was like a broad, 3-D puzzle. The kind Ox and I like. The more I looked into it, the more I wanted to know. Mr. Xavier had told me that the child he rescued protected him from a possessed necklace, something that could control people and turn them into monsters. He had several books on mythology and he bookmarked all sections relating these creatures called djinn.' Lord Death cocked his head to the side ponderously.

'Oh, of course. A djinn!' Otto blinked. 'You know what it is? I mean, of course you do, I just wasn't sure…'

Lord Death bounced on his shadows. 'Ah, yes. Immensely powerful magic users with the ability to bend the laws of nature to "grant wishes." Of course you never get what you're looking for. It always has a catch, one that usually involves the loss of your soul. Djinn traditionally live within common items that you may encounter on a day to day basis, making it easier to find, for lack of a better term, suckers to devour. Necklaces, pots, even kettles and lamps can be home to djinn in their spirit form. I recommend reading A Thousand and One Nights to really get the shake down on them. The story of Aladdin, particularly, is one of the more famous appearances of djinn in history. Disney was careful to delete the part where his soul was ripped from his body, leaving him as a rotting husk.' Lord Death chuckled darkly.

'But do continue.'

'R-right.' The young man swallowed. 'The girl had protected him from a djinn and from there he thought it in his best interest to keep her by his side. If for nothing else, protection from the necklace he was certain had cursed him. And what better protection than this magical, powerful child? Who would know more about the threat than the one who had been locked away with it?' Otto shook his head.

'In Mr. Xavier's journals he notes how she referred to their pursuer as Djinn. Like a name instead of a species. That Djinn was hunting her, Djinn had committed awful deeds that, while she couldn't remember them, she could remember how they made her feel.' The young man allowed a look of empathetic woe pass over his face. 'It must have been Hell for her, with everything so blurry and confusing. Especially when the very thing that was so evil, so awful was her father.' Lord Death raised an unseen brow, attention peaked. 'Really? Her father? How do you know?'

Otto blinked. 'Well, she only mentions it once in the entire journal so it may have been a slip of the tongue. It may have been one of the hiccups of memory she had from time to time, or maybe they ran into something that reminded her…in any case, she referred to Djinn as "BaBa". That means "Father", right?'

The child of a djinn and a wiccan? No wonder Sigh was such a tormented soul.

'Her magic was strange and dangerous, perhaps attributed to her heritage as djinn spawn. There're pages and pages of occasions where she used magic to save them. Few occasions when she was actually a child…frightened of her own power…afraid of the dark… trusting of strangers…if possible, it seems like she didn't mature as she traveled. She grew more juvenile. It was degeneration not unlike what I saw in the retirement village, in those with dementia or Alzheimer's. The end pages of the journal note that she seemed to have become an average child, suddenly ignorant of her abilities and wiped of her memories. She was no longer of any use to him; she had become a hindrance. It is at this point that he gives her to someone.' A dark cloud drifted over Otto's face.

'He told me he had lost her. He said it like she had just vanished into thin air and he was the victim in having been abandoned. But it seems he was no hero.'

The young nurse dug around in the bag he'd brought with him, finally fishing out a circle of old looking metal. It was tarnished and dull, but it was possible to see the trinket had at one time been a very handsome piece of silver. Upon its face was the worn down engraving of a large tree, its branches scraping the top of the coin and is roots scratching the bottom. Lord Death narrowed his eyes.

'Yggdrasill.' Otto nodded gravely. 'The world tree. It's the symbol for the cult he sold her to, some cult that worships Gaia of the earth. They…they're crazy. I can't believe...maybe they were different back then but now…to read the stories of their extremists nowadays…it's like some sort of horror story. You can't make this stuff up! Sacrifices and crazy rituals. Mass suicides and acts of terrorism.'

Lord Death was familiar with this cult. His students had stomped down many of their factions in the past century and he took pride in the fact that most if not all of their extremist encampments had been wiped from the earth. 'I can only imagine what they would put a kid like that through,' Otto continued. 'A kid with no one to look for her, no one to ask after her well-being, no one to say "stop that, that's wrong, she's just a kid!".'

Lord Death was frowning behind his mask now, trying to stifle his upset to keep his visitor from sensing it and growing afraid. He felt Death Scythe stiffen behind him, the man very much aware of his meister's mood.

Perhaps it hadn't been Sigh neglecting to use her magic.

Perhaps it hadn't just been a young wiccan coming into her own.

Perhaps all those disasters were a defense mechanism. Something to escape her captors, her tormentors. Something to make the pain go away.

'The reason I'm here,' Otto said slowly. For all of Lord Death's efforts it seemed the young man could still sense the sudden tension in the air. 'Is that I spoke to the private detective hired to find her. He said she wound up here and I didn't know…I mean I had to tell somebody. I had no idea if she was dangerous o-or if this djinn was still chasing her. Maybe I could talk to her. I just thought-'

'It was right of you to come and see me, Mr. Ford,' Lord Death interrupted, forcing his mood to brighten. 'I do so like being aware of all the happenings in my city. But I'm afraid the young wiccan doesn't live here anymore. And no, I do not believe I'll tell you where she got off to. This is a matter for Shibusen now; you understand if I have to keep you in the dark.' Disappointment flashed across Otto's face. 'But-'

'Perhaps, when it is all over,' Lord Death spoke over him again. 'I can let slip a bit of information. You've put so much work into this it would be unfair to simply dismiss you. But this is dangerous business and you're not trained to handle it. I'm actually very impressed with your progress up to this point. The Ford brain, I assume?' Lord Death's question was rhetorical. 'Off you go! Go see Ox; I'm sure he'll be glad to see you. And thank you again for all your help. I hope we'll meet again. But not too soon, right?' Lord Death winked. It was heard in his voice. Otto hesitated, his mouth still open before shutting with a snap. He nodded and bowed. 'Please let me know how it works out,' he muttered. 'And thank you for your time.'

'No problem. And if you have any more concerns, don't hesitate to come see me!' Lord Death nodded and waved, watching his visitor leave.

'A bit cold, don't you think?' Death Scythe sighed. 'I mean it's obvious the kid was hoping to find out more.'

'He knows enough if not too much,' Lord Death sang. 'Dangerous business you know. Cults and witches and djinns and the like. I would hate for him to get hurt from his involvement.'

'Oh, I see!' Death Scythe rubbed his chin. 'You were protecting him. It's not like he's one of the students. He's not prepared for this sort of thing. No training, no mission briefing. It looked like just walking up the stairs wiped him. There's no way he could get too far into this thing without ending up dead. Pretty awesome of you, Sir, protecting him like that.' Lord Death nodded. 'There is no occasion when I am not awesome, Spirit.' The Death Scythe chuckled and nodded, Lord Death surrendering a part of his consciousness to a forgotten memory that had been stirred at the mention of djinn. A detail regarding Sigh's magic, something his son had mentioned once, a look of fascination and poorly concealed pride in the young reaper's eyes as he spoke of the young woman. Lord Death regretted not paying more attention as his son was speaking, but at that moment he had thought to label the younger reaper's words as the mushed cooing of a man besot.

'-unlike anything I've ever seen, Father.'

'Really now?'

'Truly. The words to her spells are so lengthy….so strange. Mimi ni hapa. Kuja kwangu. Almost like it's not a spell at all….'

'It's not a spell,' Lord Death spoke in startled realization, just under his breath. 'It's not a spell at all.'

'Sir?' Confusion on Death Scythe's face didn't faze the reaper; he hardly had time to explain.

'It's not a spell. It's a wish.'"

A member of the audience sneezed thrice in succession. The narrator took a moment to excuse them and their suddenly mucus covered face. When they had returned, she started up again.

"'I don't think we can be friends anymore,' a young woman said drowsily, manicured hand running through highlighted hair. She was pouting in a horrible way with tears gathering in her dim eyes and her body hunched like it was wounded. Blood speckled her expensive looking clothes and gathered in her sandals. The crowbar was still grasped in her hand, fingers frozen like she feared it would escape her. She slammed her back against the side of a brick building, sliding down to sit on her bottom.

'You never listen to me. I didn't want to kill him; it was just easy. I was just pointing out that it was easy.' The necklace that lay beneath her shirt hummed with a life of its own, so much more powerful than when she had first found it. The girl was a fool; but she was useful. Its last host had been pathetically weak, the rot beginning hardly a month into possession. But this girl had a noticeably longer shelf life. Three months and she still held her form. There was hope yet.

You had to protect yourself. It hummed. From his deceitful intentions. And his soul was so delicious.

'But…and then…my parents…' she sighed. Her mouth was dry. 'I had to kill them for my inheritance. For the money they owed me. It was mine, anyway. I couldn't wait any longer…right?'

Of course. Do you not recall how soft and sweet their souls were? If it was wrong, why were they not bitter? Burning?

A shaking hand found her face, smearing blood across it as she watched the cooling corpse farther along in the alley. The crowbar gave off a dark miasma, reeking of black magic and evil. It dissipated, reabsorbed by her locket like every other tool she had used. There was never any evidence left behind, only cooling corpses and the stench of potent darkness. She would have to leave soon, get cleaned up. Couldn't have people asking unnecessary questions. Her neighbors were already suspicious of her parents'…disappearance.

'But not her,' the young woman whined after a while. 'I didn't want you to hurt her. I just want to kill her daughter. That's it. She…Madame…she was good to me.'

She would have stood in our way, Djinn comforted. Had it shoulders it would have shrugged. And I didn't kill her.

'Because I stopped you,' she pointed out. 'I stopped you.' Djinn merely chuckled.

Of course you're right, Love. You're always right. We're so close, he purred you're so perfect. We're so close.

'I don't want to be your friend anymore,' she repeated as though for the first time. Had she said that already? She couldn't quite recall now, as she grasped her necklace, embracing the heat that radiated from it freely. It burned her, formed callouses on her chest and hands. But she didn't feel the pain. She hardly felt anything anymore.

It's almost over it purred soon, my lovely.

A name repeated in her head, over and over and over. She didn't the person it belonged to, didn't know why she should feel the hatred etched into her soul as she clung to her only companion.

Rehema.

Rehema.

Rehema."

The storyteller had, of all things, a dog with her. Or, more accurately, a puppy. She had told her audience she hadn't had time to take him home, that her husband had given the little dog to her that morning. Apparently it had followed him home in his travels.

That was the first time she had given any details about her husband. They now knew he worked at Shibusen.

Or the military. Don't they travel too?

Or just a wanderer in general?

Damn. Back to square one.

The little dog was coal black with red eyes. It seemed smarter than any dog the students had ever seen and the woman had seemingly named it Tar. It now slept on her lap, snuggled up in her oversized sweater that seemed be fitting snugger.

She played with the pup's ears as she continued speaking.

"It was a lovely night. The air was cold but heavy with the scent of cultivated wilderness and the crisp scent of life. Though he was the heir to death, the eventual end to all that is alive, Death the Kid could grow a mean garden. Lilies and gardenias, hyacinths and belladonnas and irises. And not just the flowing plants. He was also rather proud of his shrubberies and was cultivating a young apple tree amongst the stunted willows. This was all happening, to the surprise of his friends and weapons, in the arid climate of the Nevada desert. Death the Kid had created an impossible place in an impossible place; unbelievable. Noteworthy. An average day for Death the Kid and his love of well earned reward.

The wealth their family (or, rather, the wealth of Death) had acclimated over the years. The point is over emphasized but important enough to warrant repetition; Kid and his father were old. So old, in fact, that money meant almost nothing. The acquiring of it was simply too easy, especially when their home was full of priceless artifacts that were in fact simply heirlooms left over from Lord Death's youth. Not that Kid would ever dare to sell any of it –not that he would ever want to- but the fact remained that money came easy to the reapers. To most immortals, really. So long as one didn't drink it all away like Dionysus.

So some time after his eightieth birthday, when he was what some immortals would describe as a 'tween', Kid had woken up one day in his empty, lonely manor and wondered why things never changed. Why they stayed the same. Why his manor (so much larger than people realized. Larger on the inside than it appeared on the out, and that was saying quite a bit) didn't have more…life in it.

It had been rather difficult turning an entire courtyard into a walk-in garden. A foundation of cement covered by eight feet of the healthiest soil money could buy and a complex aquifer system that somehow recycled water like the yard was its own ecosystem. The workers had been privy to a tour of Death's home as they were led to their place of work, although none of them could accurately recall all that they had seen. They all agreed the manor had been large. That it had been grand and possessed an obvious black and white theme, their manager a strange man by the name of Hephaestus. But despite the fact they had spent over a month walking the halls and hefting their equipment they couldn't remember anything concrete. Before they knew it the job was over and their incredibly young employer was shutting the door behind them.

It hadn't been an easy path for Death the Kid to learn to plant. He had no idea how to begin a garden, much less such a large one. He knew there were seeds and water involved, and perhaps a bit of sunlight, but aside from that he was very much a novice. His first attempts were met with failure so absolute and devastating he'd had to take a break that lasted a year, during which he couldn't bear to gaze upon the barren patch of soil without bursting into tears. Ever the supportive parent, Lord Death had allowed Kid to continue his dramatics so long as it didn't interfere in his duties.

And it was greatly amusing.

When Kid finally returned to the long neglected project it was with new eyes and new resolve. He brought with him limited knowledge that was largely book based and a fatalist view dictating that another failure warranted its own sort of victory; surely he was the first reaper to try at such a thing, much less fail twice.

He hadn't known how much it meant to him until those first little buds appeared, green dots lining the black of healthy soil. Death the Kid had wept. Not the loud, obnoxious wail of a child craving attention or the sniveling mess that usually mark one of his fits. No, these tears were silent by nature, and only a precious few escaped before he regained control of himself.

Decades later, he sat with soil staining his casual white polo shirt and grass stains on the fabric of his black jeans, his fingers clenched around a pair of miniature shears that were surgically precise. The rose bush was large and deep, leaves emerald green and waxy with health. The blossoms were a precious white ivory, whiter even than Kid's skin, and large –enormous- for their species. The young reaper was found here often in recent days, working in this place –his place- with a fervor that spoke of a man haunted. His gaze focused tightly and yet roaming a far land. His hands were intent and experienced whilst lacking the calm by which they usually worked.

Yes. Tonight Death the Kid was seeking a distraction.

From what, he couldn't yet say. All he knew was that he needed it, just as he needed to stop thinking of what it may have been like had Sigh ever stumbled upon his garden, if she had ever walked its pathways, if she had ever dared to breathe deep of one of the pockets in his soul.

In order to do that, of course, she would have had to know about it. Gallows manor is a place of strong magic and seals, a place where the mortal sense of space and time are mashed up and slapped about without care. Appearance was nothing but a legend there and the enter manor possesses a depth that is not well understood. There are default rooms of course, those that anyone can stumble upon, and then there are those that lie hidden beneath the surface.

The kitchen, the foyer, most of the bedrooms, and the library were a few chambers that any visitor could access without thought. Like the rooms of a normal home, one could simply wander in the front door and find their way into any of these set locations. But other places could only be found if one knew they are looking for them. A sudden door here, an appearing hall there, a window that was certainly new; they all blinked in silently and abruptly like they had never been unseen in the first place. Liz and Patty were only beginning to master the maze-like mansion while Sigh…ah, Sigh had never known quite what she had been getting into. Kid had explained the concept once or twice but she'd never really had ample chance…

The reaper pursed his lips, clipping a stray leaf with more force than necessary. He didn't need flood lights to work at night. Even if he didn't have the full moon's bloody smile to light the night he, like other reapers, had the ability to see in the dark. It was the reason he was able to so tenderly look after his garden whilst avoiding the annoying heat of the day. The light of his seldom used porch helped, of course, but it could never hope to light the entirety of his massive work …

She would have loved it here. Her toes splayed on his perfectly green grass, her hands running over the saplings and the older willows. Their growth was stunted by the limited resources and yet they still managed to provide a soft shade where his treacherous imagination pictured her lounging with one of her dearly held books. Her eyes would shimmer with mirth as he muddied his trousers and dirtied his hands, her eyebrows would quirk when he tried to teach her the proper way to treat his slice of paradise…

An aggressive flex of the hand had him accidentally removing a perfectly healthy blossom. In the prime of its life, it lay as a fragile victim in the soil…

She hadn't written as promised. Any letters that were written in Vegas could easily arrive in Death City within a week…

Maybe he should work on the strawberries next? They were Patty's favorites although he could never convince the pistol to help him care for the plants…

He had no right to be slighted, to be wounded by silence. A broken promise? People always did that. No one took vows and promises more seriously than grim reapers. He should have been ready for such a thing. Perhaps a truth had never been spoken from her lips …she was a witch's relative after all…

He had to stop this bitterness in his heart. She was his friend. Nothing more, but he could accept that. He could apologize for forcing himself on her, for wanting more than she could give. But he couldn't hate her. He never could…

Things at his manor hadn't been all that different with Sigh gone and he was surprised at his disappointment in being unable to scry change. Of course he and his weapons were expected to pick up behind themselves more often but that was no real challenge. When one battles demons on a daily basis chores are nothing to cower before. The cooking was left to Liz and Patty (although Kid could cook, he found the task obscenely boring. He often wandered off in the middle. This, of course, would result in whatever he was preparing to be burned beyond recognition when he inevitably forgot about it) and Kid would dust and occasionally risk the laundry and floors. Or… he had been assigned laundry until he accidently shrunk an entire load. And then his weapons begrudgingly exchanged washing the dinner dishes for the strangely challenging task of washing clothes.

There was no longer any music in his home. Well, there were the blaring hits-of-the-day Liz preferred and the surprisingly grungy rap Patty loved but there wasn't music. The flow had been disrupted. It was a small change with a heavy weight; like a pin prick of dark matter. It would take one a moment to recognize the feel of discord that was suddenly present but once seen it was hard to ignore. Their home had been fine before the maid and it was only logical to assume they could carry on after her. But the way she had left –abruptly, on jagged terms- seemed to have left a mark. One he couldn't get rid of, no matter how long or hard he worked.

Kid sighed and knocked the filth from his knees as he stood, joints popping at the release of pressure. He wasn't tired. He seemed to be exceptionally restless. He shook his head and chanced a look at his watch. It was nearly midnight. Perhaps he should forgo sleep altogether and study up on witch history? Try to learn something new although he had scoured their written existence and ways with the passion of a madman in the past. He had spent the last year of his life trying to figure a way a witch may be born different; not the occasional mutant with no talent in dangerous spells but those who were simply resistant to magic's sway. Perhaps he should try-

He was hit in the face to suddenly he nearly stumbled back, night-eyes narrowing as his pupils dilated. It was the sharp, rotten-sweet tang of old magic. Not a spell that was old and coming to life, but a spell cast by one as ancient as Death himself. A great old one.

'I know you're here.' He hissed, noting how unnaturally still the world had suddenly become. He could no longer hear the little scurry of desert rodents and reptiles, the occasional sound of human nightlife as it was carried by the wind. Or even the wind itself. It was as though he was suddenly caught in a bubble, severed from the world.

The hands on his watch were stuck at 22:59.

'And thus upon a midnight dreary as you ponder weak and weary, labor over such a chore and I shall tell thee "nevermore".' Kid swiveled his head so fast his neck cracked, eyes narrowing on a raven perched in the branches of his only maple tree.

The smell of old magic hit him once again and his muscles tensed. 'Witch!'

'No silly boy. Medium,' the raven responded, its voice disturbingly familiar and coils of smoke spiraling from its wings. The seals of the manor were hard at work. 'Knock upon your chamber door- only this and nothing more.' Kid didn't relax, wishing his weapons were at his side. They thought he was in bed –or chose to believe his lie- and had retired themselves after casting weary looks over their shoulders. Just as he thought he was hiding his upset from them, they thought they were hiding their concern from him. A terrible circle; the manor had been filled with awkward silences and pregnant pauses for days. So when it came down to this venture he had slipped out of his room silently without alerting his intentions to either Thompson. Surely he was safe in his own home. Right?

If the witch was this powerful when speaking through a medium, he would be in a tight spot should she choose to reveal herself.

'What do you want here? What could possess you to call upon death?' he demanded, narrowing his eyes and ignoring his unease. He was the heir to Death; Death does not cower in the face of a witch. The raven cackled in its master's voice. 'She fled like the wind, so ready to be rid of you and your ilk. It burns you, does it not? How beautifully your heart shatters! How fragile it is! How desperately you crave "Lenore" and yet I tell thee "nevermore"!'

'Answer me!' barked Kid, fear springing into his gut like a cold flame. She? Perhaps he was reading too closely into the witch's words, perhaps his mind had looped this into the path it had been walking before the appearance of his unwanted visitor. But something in him was suddenly so afraid he could hardly stand it; so uncertain he thought he would simply die if left ignorant.

'Who are you talking about?' he dared ask and yet knew the answer.

'Psyche Éclair! Psyche Éclair!' the bird squawked much in the way birds do. 'Lenore! Lenore!' Kid frowned deeply. 'What do you know of Sigh?'

The raven laughed. 'Nevermore.' Kid grit his teeth.

'What do you know?'

'Nothing. Never-nevermore.'

"What do you know of her? What have you done to her?'

'Nothing, never-nevermore.'

'Do not toy with me!'

'Fool, one such as myself cares not for the world of children like you. I have done nothing for or to the girl save for opening her eyes to her truer self. I merely amplified a magic that was already here. I gave assistance where I thought it to be necessary. It was an act of kindness, not of malice.' The raven settled its wings restlessly. 'Speaking of which, her "homecoming" is going swimmingly. Would you like me to tell you how she fairs? It was adorable, really, watching her try and disguise her home from your ilk. Like she could as of yet devise anything powerful enough to trick your reaper perceptions. Hiding should you dare to come after her.' Beady black eyes focused on Kid and he bared his teeth.

'Sigh would never try to hide from me,' Kid growled. 'I'm her friend!'

'Her friend? You seek friendship alone? Do try to be honest.' Kid ignored the statement, daring a step closer to the medium's perch. 'What did you-'

'Nothing,' the witch clacked, 'I have done nothing. I told you that she is alive and well, simply longing for solitude. You should thank me for the good news.'

'Are you here to mock me?' Kid spat. 'At least have the decency to come in your own skin.'

'The girl is under my tender vigil now. You needn't worry any longer. I've come to free you. I offer respite. Respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Let me tell you; "nevermore"!'

'Thing of evil!' Kid roared, eyes burning. 'Stay away from her!'

'Nevermore! Nevermore!' The dark bird lifted itself into the air, alighting on a higher perch. 'You are a shadow,' the witch's voice deadpanned, nearly piercing through with her game of juvenile passivity. 'You and your father, are shadows. We aided you in the war with the kishin with the understanding that things would be…different between our two species. As long as we cause no harm to silly little humans, you lessen your interference in our lives.' The raven cocked its head to the side. 'Tell me, has any harm come to any human by way of my interference? The girl is a being of magic; my territory. Has the world been threatened by a young magic user simply wishing to stew in her woe? Desolate, yet all undaunted?' Kid clenched his jaw.

'You're poison,' he spat. 'Sigh needs to know she's not alone, she needs to know there are people who-'

'Love her?' the raven squawked, cackle erupting at Kid's responding silence. 'You know nothing, Little Reaper. Pain builds character. It is the chaos that fuels life itself. Shadows like you cannot understand such a thing. You're empty, sad-faced clowns, juggling the souls of those you've deemed worthy of saving.' She sighed dismissively. 'I'll not null the spell the girl has cast, that which shields her from your eyes. And you, in your current state, have no hope of breaking it. A shame. Annoying as you are, I actually respect you, if only a little.' The bird clacked its beak together. 'Speaking to one such as myself so recklessly? You can feel what I am, you know you're no match for me, and still you speak thusly. Admirable. But blood is thicker than water. I take the woman you adore and I leave you simply; nevermore. My granddaughter is not for you. Or anyone else.'

'Granddaughter?' Kid's eyes widened in disbelief. 'That's impossible!'

'Why?' the raven asked coolly, soulless gaze on the reaper. 'Is it so strange that a witch have blood connections? A family that loves her? Or would that make us too real for reapers to face?' Kid frowned. 'If you're her family then you should care about her happiness. If you loved her, you would. Honestly, my experiences with witches and their families have left me incredulous of their ability to love anything but themselves.'

'Fool child,' the air grew heavy as the witch's voice deepened menacingly, the air wavering with her wrath. Kid suddenly found it very difficult to breathe, the differences in their power seeming all the more apparent. Still, he stood with his head high, stubbornly glaring forward. And when it felt like his chest was about to cave in, he simply stopped breathing to prevent her from seeing his struggling lungs. It was too late to back out. Not that he had ever thought to.

'Any happiness you could offer, you and your ilk, is fleeting compared to the world I could present her with. It all shrivels in comparison to what she can become! You would hold her back! You would never truly accept her for what she is, what is her blood. You and yours see a shiny new toy in her, nothing but a pet to keep until she bores you! Parading her around like she's a trinket you've found; you think I haven't noticed? You'll never have her. She belongs to her fate now.' Kid forced air into his lungs, unwilling to remain silent lest she mistake it for submission.

'I know those who weave Fate. Personally. And I can say that if you cared about her,' Kid's voice was a rasp. 'If you cared about your alleged "granddaughter", you would let me protect her.' A great cry ripped free of the raven's beak, the witch's response to Kid's demand. It was an unnatural, horrid sound filled with the screams of a thousand dying moments. A thousand instances of ardor and pain, of grief and rage. It seemed to shatter, if only briefly, all perceptions of space and time, running together seconds that should never meet, past and future and every lifetime collapsing all in one heartbeat.

It was over too soon. Not soon enough. Kid allowed himself to worry, just for an instant, that he might have died. What would happen to his weapons? Would they ever know what had happened to their meister and brother? Would they ever…

Vertigo gripped Kid as he pried his clenched fingers from about his bleeding ears. He couldn't remember having lifted his hands.

'Who,' he gasped, a bead of perspiration disappearing beneath his collar. He was trying to glare but was out of breath. 'Who are you?' The bird hovered in midair a moment, seeming to mull over his question. She looked right at him, taking in his pale demeanor as he wiped at the blood trailing down to his jaw. He was still on his feet. Admirable. That was why she had helped he and his father against the kishin. Aside from the fact that the demon had been a threat to her kind as surely as his, there was also something to be praised about the boy's bravery.

He had dared to come to her realm –weaponless, bold- to beg at her feet. He was the son of Death himself, the life-long bane to her people and the vanguard of Order. The boy's existence was repugnant to her after a lifetime of hunts and battles. He reeked of authority and arrogance, of a confident gait that she would have loved to rip apart by the seams. But he had surprised her. And as old as she was, surprises were a rare delicacy.

He had dismissed his pride to save his people; such a thing must have been akin to swallowing a boulder for a grim reaper. He had bowed to her with the respect she deserved, his voice strained with the effort to sound neither pleading nor demanding. His simple belief that she would not kill him on the spot the very reason she had not done so. His words had excited her in a way she hadn't felt in centuries, had set her blood boiling in her veins like she was on fire. It was the catalyst to her wanderings even this far in the future. She was restless after the Kishin was dead, eager for the stimulation she had thought herself retired from.

Even now his courage touched her. Such a man he would be someday.

If he lived that long, of course.

'You,' she began solemnly, almost forlornly. 'You focus on her wiccan side, the side that encompasses the witch in her. But you fail to see her as a whole.' Kid frowned. 'I see Sigh more as a person than anything else. She is my friend first, nothing more.'

'No,' the raven sighed. 'She is wiccan and more. Every child has two parents.' Kid looked at the raven in concealed curiosity. The raven stared back impassively.

The bird squawked a final 'nevermore!' and burst into a magic flame."