Three Years Moribound

by et-the-extra-terrible

A Shinigami falls in love with an autistic human, makes a deal to reduce its own lifespan, and seeks to spend the woman's last years at her side. A woman battles temptation.

The human world is far from lacking in terms of interesting discoveries.

Over tens of thousands of millennia, 'modern medicine' ranged from urine to penicillin. If commentary were forced upon those that keenly observed otherwise useless changes outside increased life expectancy, many Shinigami would undoubtedly list it as a first and foremost favorite or strange adaptation outside a grey, rotting melancholy. Unsurprisingly, albeit quite unfortunate, few were willing to bother learning these changes unless they were practically dying from boredom outside the essentials meant to explain this relatively recent change in human civilization, where cultural and technological differences far outshone the century before in terms of productivity and openness. Even now, many things that hadn't been quite clear one day revealed themselves in strange or convenient ways the next.

It took one year for a world left in the dark to become fully embalmed with worldwide connection. As was human nature - selfish, spiteful, malicious, this link between all living beings with the capacity and financial requirements met to receive such privilege became a double edged sword.

Viruses interloped and wreaked havoc within this formless system carrying through metaphorical waves, a namesake once solely given to plague and otherwise erratic diseases, and abnormal nicknames placed themselves as semi official terms for normal everyday habits when founded through this invisible world seemingly lacking any true beginning to their widespread usage. This 'slang', as these terms were referenced as, created an already present growing gap between elder generations and those engaging with newfound advancements, forcing those of the old world to adapt to something unimaginable they'd managed without for decades.

Stubbornness and alienation were far from new in human civilization, but this change had been the most drastic. Primitive in its early stages, but the foremost largest creation.

The most new. The most interesting.

It drew curious onlookers from all over the rotting realm as above so below, and boney, slimy, feathered, or malformed heads peered down into the human realm with exponentially deepened questions. For most, satisfying their curiosity was as simple as lingering about until they overheard what was said by mortal tongue or shared through supposedly well informed death gods over a game of gambling or apple filled bribes.

Some, however, lingered where they sat overlooking the human realm. They wanted to learn more, or found another curiosity for their naturally inquisitive nature to latch onto to quell boredom.

For a crow feathered onlooker, its hand a mere boney spike mimicking that of a horn at the end of a dark wing for an arm, the curiosity in question was a glass filled with sand.

The appendage slowly scrawled the occasional name that passed over and interrupted the bird's eye view offering a direct line of sight the mono eyed Shinigami held with this strange curved glass. In all the years stolen for personal benefit, such a trinket had gone unaccounted for when putting names to man made structures and complex machinery.

That day, I remember thinking, 'I must have it.'

Coincidentally, similar trinkets to the sandy glass began to pop up from there on out, taking attention off the hourglass cupped in tiny pale fingers. Entire collections began to amass, finding their homes amongst thickly feathered wings doubling as storage in a space between physical being and void.

The space available was finite, and so was filled accordingly. So long as these trips took less than 82 hours, the King did not mind.

He was easy to bribe, after all.

Only the finest selections in the curved glass trinkets pouring sand through their centers to the other side made their way into greedy wings. Passion in the craftsmanship, the end result, the design - all of it factored into whether or not I regarded a likewise trinket with scorn for wasting valuable collector's time where a human may pick up what could've been mine, or if I awed in silence and swept one from its place in the human world.

Which is why that first little trinket was compared to superior, finely made art, the first appeared peculiar, unworthy of attention, and preposterous to follow around! It had nothing noteworthy to its frame with the exception of being the first the crack laden god of death took notice of.

Admired from a distance like the vices indulged in by humans, and yet, the trinket never seemed to find itself amongst its delectably prestigious brethren. Instead, the trinket was constantly toted out and about by a tiny human girl chaperoned by another the same age with matching physical features.

Twins, to put it how humans say.

The girl never let the trinket go, not in waking hours nor rest. She even took it where humans tended to relieve themselves, and when she'd come out, it'd glisten with water she'd washed it with to prevent the spread of germs. Unlike her hands, of which often became dry and sported flakey rashes on their backs on colder days or when exposed to wind, the girl always dried the glass with her shirt.

As a consequence for the refusal to add it to the yearning bevy, following the girl around in her day to day life became inevitable between successful findings. The temptation to write her out of the equation reared its ugly head.

Her lifespan wouldn't add too many years when compared to others in modern day, but it'd be satisfactory. In these superficial times where people congregate in churches almost as much as they did sparkling clothing stores and parties with flashing lights that pulsed with shaking music and drank their youth away into grey fleshed, bloated bellies, it'd practically be a favor. Those that witnessed such things took a liking to them, as far as could be recalled.

But I didn't. The glass could break, or scratch, or lose its value.

I didn't want this trinket in particular to break.

The 82 hour limit was tested and stretched as far as the death god was willing to risk without being submitted to punishment, quad wings shivering like blades of grass high in the clouds many assumed were solid. Dewy saturation caked bone, decaying deer legs, and richly deep wings graciously. Droplets trailed like a cape for hours even when the earth was walked. Hooves clacked, clopped, and clicked on contact with cement squares, bony legs stretching significantly further than their appearance would suggest their ability to maneuver.

Shadowing the girl wherever she wandered on the quiet property never proved very difficult. She, like the pale brother, rarely felt the need to deviate from her usual fixations.

Namely, the sandy glass trinket based in carved mahogany wood.

Anything embodying its form immediately caught my interest. Mono eyed fixations would follow the sandy glass' form for as long as it reflected in windows or mirrors, appreciating the compliments its shapely craft always seemed to project. When I realized human eyes sometimes reflected what lay in front of them, I'd most often search the girl's pupils for hints of the sandy glass when it was tipped over and its insides put in motion. Onyx bangs often threatened to masque ebony irises and shade the sandy glass from sight. For the most part, staring into the sandy glass would suffice.

At other times, I found myself quite fond of these deeply intricate eyes. To her, a breeze would pass through the walls, when really, a wing swept hanging bangs into a brief dance.

Overtime, I found the reason for this odd habituation revealed itself in strange ways. Where others were more expressive, this girl held a constant blank stare and neutral frown.

This only changed when someone touched her in any way, shape, or form, or if one of her strange stretches or many fixations were disturbed or couldn't be found. At these times, peace abruptly ceased to be for the entire household.

The small face and stringy neck pulled taut, thin lips trembled, bubbles popped and ran in streams out flared nostrils that lathered a tiny chin in snot, reddened cheeks bathed in endless rivers of tears, and silence became ear piercing shrieks.

At first, the shrieks seemed to be rage. Of course, rage was a common package along with panic, but in truth, the girl was absolutely terrified. Nothing could soothe or hinder this absolute panic of familiar but unwelcome surroundings, of every noise, of people, and of unmanaged sensation.

One day I became curious, and stole away the sandy glass.

The once rare shrieks threatened to break glass. Strained by the sheer volume alone, the tiny throat gave out three hours in. She screamed and screamed until she physically couldn't. Still, even in the airy silence, she screamed.

Realizing their small child may have accidentally harmed herself, the parents whisked the girl away to a doctor. The physician prescribed a sedative.

At last, the shrieks stopped? Sweat coated her entire body, scrawny limbs frozen and flesh several shades closer to becoming sickly grey.

She was unconscious for days.

Humans dying of grief had long since become a new discovery for Shinigami. Looking down at this child, lacking peace even in hours of rest, I became familiar with the same feeling I had when experimenting on older generations centuries before.

A curled wing relinquished the sandy glass that'd yet to join the collection. The girl awoke, and her afflictions ceased their activities.

She was once again pacified.

Strangely enough, where nothing but disregard was spared for the wellbeing of others, I never did that particular thing again. I kept to the habits in which I foreshadowed the false breeze sweeping ebony eyes free of onyx strands.

Despite a young age and most peculiar demeanor, something lay behind those dark orbs. A sense of awareness and knowing. Of curiosity, of which quickly furthered her knowledge of the world around her.

So long as the girl held the sandy glass, she could review her findings in peace.

How I came to this conclusion was a puzzle on its own. Bribery and stretching the 82 hour limit to its wits end, all for a youth who didn't speak and repeated every day the exact same as the last, wasn't the most informative way to spend one's days.

Breakfast at 8 to 10, then linger outside and perhaps walk the yard barefoot if it was quiet enough and the day was cool, but not cold, all the while fantasizing about the trinkets that undoubtedly lost all their mystique long ago but still kept an ebony eye on them somehow. Afterward she'd sit at a table and go over her trinkets in the same order and manner as always at 1 all the way to 3, where each and every item had been properly inspected. Bathroom needs ranging from personal grooming to relieving herself always remained strictly executed at 3:15 without wiggle room in the timing, and the rest of the day was basically 'freeform' until 8:30, where she ate salted salmon chopped into pink squares with milk even if that wasn't what the others in her family had received. With exception of the rubik's cube during 'freeform', as well as several other fixations as they were observed in a two hour span, the sandy glass never found itself replaced.

Where the adults of the house slept normally, and the boy was noticed to sleep rather peculiarly as well, only the girl with a mono eye trained on her day to day life was noted to have slept curled up and under the covers.

All this attention spent on the girl proved dreadfully draining. Just as the girl hyper fixated on trinkets, the sandy glass collection that'd been amassed slowly found itself lacking any newcomers stored within thick, richly dark navy blue wings, and scarcely was attention ever spared for the others inhabiting the household. At most, the twin was maybe given a fleeting glance, and the mother and father only came into view when the girl walked past them.

The Death Note was neglected.

A year's worth of living was lost. More time lost would've piled up were it not for the abrupt departure forced by the King.

The spherical body churned in place. My body, strewn straight and flat, bound by chains to the extent the bones making up my form threatened to snap, laid helpless under the King's power.

"You've tested me long enough."

The King put down his statement. To him, it seemed I'd forgotten or twisted the rules in my psyche to fit what I wanted to do overtime, and that simply could not be allowed.

To visit the human realm for 82 hours at a time, I had to be stalking someone whose name I intended to write down. Had I continued to use my Death Note during my 82 hours stay, the apples would have been more than enough for him to let it slide how I visited the human realm with the purpose of observing someone specific other than whom I intended to claim a lifespan for myself.

A year's worth of ignorance for this law's specifics came down in a punishment dished out with a severity thricefold the crime.

For three days, flames licked and charred churning, twisted features bound by the King's influence to lean into the hottest flicker.

Never before had the concept of agony been so very sharp.

Trembling, the only concept of the world held within was that there was no more pain. For weeks, quivering singed wings reformed under special circumstances.

Shinigami who witnessed this sad excuse for a death god on display laughed or poked fun with sarcastic, forsaken questions. Those that had a piece of mindfulness didn't participate in this gradual mockery, and would respectfully hang their head, curving their stroll with a wide berth for the curled form that'd recently become familiar with fear.

Days turned into weeks.

Weeks turned into months.

For a long time, nothing was taken into account.

Not until, at least, something brought the wallowing to an abrupt end.

The other Shinigami held my squirming form in her gaze. A swollen ankle jabbed into curled wings hiding a reclusive form.

I flinched away, scrambling to the side, face splitting maw creaking and filling the space between us with birdlike screeching.

Were it not for fear holding me stiff in its vice, the manner in how she did not react in the slightest to the screechy caws brushing slimy seaweed atop her temple out of place would've been something I'd taken into account about her character.

The rusty, jagged form glared at the screeching, protesting form in front of her down until the sound fell into silence and was replaced with apprehension.

When the crowlike body with a head vaguely resembling a long split skull did not move or protest her presence any further, the other death god slowly lowered and balanced on her feet, the lopsided, jagged area reminiscent of fungal overgrowth affecting efforts to keep still in a manner a human might view as impossibly poised.

As the hours passed, she gradually inched closer to my side. She sat with me for two days without the slightest acknowledgement or hint of annoyance. Every so often, seaweed squirmed through her empty eye sockets. When it crawled far enough, she ripped a chunk free, placing a ring of seaweed atop her exposed, rusty dome.

"The human world is best left alone," she finally murmured. Her tongue clicked and throat gargled, the words spoken in a language far from any living creature could possibly fathom.

As was the realm of the Shinigami, where no matter the tongue one spoke or manner one wrote, everything was understood in kind.

Slow croaks rose from a boney throat, mourning the time spent in the realm with the girl whose habits were so strange. The other offered no solace. Only silence. When sandy glasses were removed from their places among dark feathers, this sad croaking turned to protestant, rich caws full of anger and resentment when each was revealed to be shattered, having been cooked from the inside out.

Shattered glass, wood, and metal charred black, once adding color to the realm, faded amongst white sand without remorse or pause.

The wild black orb making up a singular eye darted every which way, from the Shinigami sitting inches away to the sky to distant bones shifting with the inconsistency of the realm's indecisive appearance.

Nowhere was a sandy glass, intact and alive in its beauty, found.

Nowhere except the human world.

Twitching limbs creaked and snapped. The stiffness in the curled wings alone fought for the title of difficult flexibility when compared to rigor mortis.

The other Shinigami rose along with me, trailing slowly alongside my stiff form. Deadpan, but curious, she tilted her helm and directed the obvious to the slow moving form in front of her. "Do you dread your return? You should."

The Death Note found its place at the end of my left wing. The cover parted with the page slowly, stiff from neglect and lack of use.

The other Shinigami peered over the other wings in her way. She hummed when she spotted the Death Note. "And if the King decides you are supposed to go after you've departed?"

"Man-nage," rasped from my gaping maw. My 'tongue' - of which I do not have - spoke through scratchy croaks, tones, and at most, two syllables at a time before speaking became harsh and difficult.

Chuckles rumbled the other's throat with clicks and hums.

They peered into the swirling chunk in the desert sands, the mounds refusing to fill in the gaps. "So be it. Go. Find your replacement. I will be here."

Midnight wings stretched tall and lengthy, crackling as feathers reached for the sky. When she spoke, her words brought pause. A mono eye fixed itself on the other death god's form. "You will…. Buh-...be here?"

"I wish to speak with you," she stated coolly. Steely lemon slits peered from deep within the flaky, rusty skull. They slimmed, forming a sharp glare. "Go!"

A few moments were spared staring at the one who'd roused one of her own where others would leave it to wallow and dissolve.

With a mighty screech cawing through the night below, feathered wings took the plunge.

Lights blurred well beyond the point their luminance would reach the peripheral. Cars, gas, conversation, footsteps - all of it merged into one, continuous buzz.

The darting figure overcasting familiar streets set all focus on the girl and the sandy glass, swishing heavy wind in the wake of heavy wings.

Ahmya Lawliet. She could not be far.

Brisk and subconscious, for a moment, finding an alternative to snatching the sandy glass upon arrival came into consideration. Without debate, the idea was cast aside. The pull to the sandy glass long before the collection lost to desolate desert sands could not be a coincidence.

The house!

I leaned back, hooves digging sharply into soil and scraping concrete, wings arching to slow any remaining momentum.

I came to a stop mere feet away from the small porch.

Oddly enough, despite knowing better, the crushing, persistent feeling of emptiness practically oozed off the outer, neglected walls.

The lights were out. Even the stove light - the mother never turned that off.

Jagged, boney limbs phased through solid matter.

Cobwebs littered and strung themselves up, scattering haphazardly with inconsistent patches layering their bodies into knots, and roaches scuttled to and fro freely without fear.

A far cry from what the homestead had once been.

Abandoned.

I had to find the sandy glass.

The master bedroom lacked furniture save for a bed layered in white sheets stained with pools of dried blood. The streaks dragged far into the closet, hinting at what may have transpired during the absence of a particular Shinigami. It wasn't there.

The bathroom held nothing but rust pooled around the bath's drain. It wasn't there.

The children's bedroom no longer held neatly sorted toys and made beds.

It. Wasn't. There.

The search was put on hold. The sandy glass wasn't stuck in the furniture, it wasn't under either beds. Tearing the mattresses open had been a precaution just to be safe, but the sandy glass was STILL nowhere to be found! It was enough to drive one mad with rage, enough so that stiff wings bristled and whipped every which way freely, throwing remaining furniture and creeping pests alike. A screech of frustration pierced the air and filled the sky, resonating all throughout France.

No one heard a peep.

Not a moment went by from thereon out where that one sandy glass wasn't at the center of a cruelly churning psyche, one piloting a mono eye in scouring the sky overlooking all over the human world in search of that one girl and her amazing plain sandy glass. The phenomenon that'd once been intriguing to a curious observation now plagued every waking hour in something thicker than any fire from the King could ever sear over flesh, fur, feathers, or bone.

In a sense, a yearning permeated every waking hour. One that called for the time spent as a silent observer in a human household, fixating on a sandy glass that'd been perfect all along.

How did its magnificence go unnoticed? It called for collection for hundreds of days - for an entire earthly orbit! Whether one felt unworthy or not, such perfection could not be ignored.

And yet it was.

Restless hours spent themselves in silence beside the Shinigami who sat with me, the same who'd risen me into action long after it'd been due. Her name was Veilacious. On occasion, she'd try to take attention away from the sandy glass that'd almost been mine through pointing out humans she decided to reap every few weeks. I learned that way she enjoyed more violent ends; in her own words, a heart attack 'just isn't enough anymore'.

I didn't care. I needed that sandy glass.

I was surrounded by sand, but I was drowning from the thought of sand I could not find.

Veilacious proved adamant to ease my downed spirits in some way or form. Once, she bid me farewell. I saw her off, keeping a keen mono eye on her descent.

When she returned, an entire music box filled with tiny sandy glasses found itself embedded in my lap. "Perhaps this will ease your mind," she had said.

It didn't. The box, lacking any claim of ownership or care for its existence in my hold, collapsed and carried away into dust.

Four years filled themselves with wallowing and yearning. Rarely did one particular Death Note receive a name. If the human world lost its scouring onlooker, the sandy glass could be missed! All other sandy glasses did not matter, for that was the one desire had latched onto. And so, whenever an onyx head of hair was spotted, both death gods would perk up, their interests piqued. And each time one would sulk and whine through croaks and chirps, and another would either sit in silence or groan irritated at the one who bemoaned the world.

Four years without a sandy glass more important than survival passed by. The human world experienced time much stranger than the Shinigami realm. That is to say, when several thousand days passed in the Shinigami realm, either a single day passed for those below the death gods inhabiting the realm of their namesake or an entire year dwindled away like dust and bone marrow between inconsistent fingers.

Damp, oozing seaweed hung limp like curtains, dangling overhead hollow eye sockets. Veilacious tore chunks off, rearranging them around her body where they could hang or wrap and discarding old pieces to become part of the grey desert sands. Without change, no matter the language difference, she spoke raspy and calm. "Your mind is lost to the human world. Why not find replicas as you did before?"

Bones parted, making way for two giant wings adjacent to that of which occupied their position as arms. The wings curled slowly and crept around a drooping form, masking the whimper dragging through the air as a whistle.

Shining slits behind empty sockets rolled.

Then they stopped. "... The one who holds your prize. Who are they?"

A caw dragged spoken words, pausing to accommodate excess syllables. "Ahmya… Lawliet."

Chuckles prompted the maw shrouded by feathers to peer a mono eye outside a self made cage. Having gained the self pitying other's attention, Veilacious directed a curved metal claw down into the human world. "Perhaps your trinket is not lost after all."

The birdlike Shinigami perked up, mono eye snapping where she directed.

Ebony eyes curtained by a lengthening head of onyx hair…

In a flash, curved legs layered with rotting fur straightened on their hooves, the split skull acting as a gaping maw screeching with elation. Veilacious scoffed, rubbing circles on the sides of her helm. "If only your excitement were expressed through other means… wait!-"

I froze inches from the portal, wings extended as far as they could reach for the sky. Golden slits became lengthy and thick in width, shining in their concerns. She gestured for the one she addressed to sit.

Huffing, my weight threw forward into the space between realms.

A firm grip yanked the departing Shinigami back into desert stands.

I stood at attention, quad wings raised high and wide, screeching in warning that if she were to ever do such a thing to me again, I'd be more than willing to resort to drastic measures of any sort to obtain my desires.

"You must wait," Veilacious scoffed. "You'd be a fool to just disturb their livelihoods and take it for yourself. All without claiming a lifespan, no less."

"I must retrieve the sandy glass!"

Veilacious leaned in close. "Then do so when the girl sleeps."

Waiting steadily became more and more painful by the second. Not a single moment passed in a manner that could be described as anything but slowly, contrasting sharply in their patience with whipping, chopping wings. An endless array of feathers frolicked and swirled, collapsing into emptiness once separated from their despairing source. Rusty metallic Veilacious passed the hours with a test of will, trying her hand at how quickly she could collect feathers yet to become pale sand and disappear, a task most unusual to onlookers and she herself alike. Countless times was the human realm looked upon with anxiety and eagerness - oh, yes, truly countless! Nothing could stir away such joy save for the fear the sandy glass would be lost for years once more.

However long it took for the opportunity to beseech the human world did not go under observation.

The moment the moon hung high in the sky, Veilacious yanked hard on fluttered wings. The death god in question briefly scuffed sand over my collapsed form, one brought on by an abrupt interruption in momentum. "Come now. Let us depart."

My body stiffened. "Us?"

Her head made a single bob. "I wish to assist in your collection of this… curiosity. The day you uncovered such trinkets from a space in between, I came to realize the human world held things I had never seen before. Blue sand, red sand, trinkets such as those you finely choose, and more." Yellow slits angled down into the portal as I rose. A twinkle resonated in those empty sockets of hers. "I wish to acquire a trinket of my own. Will you help me?"

A lidless mono eye ogled her with subtle contempt. In time, the mono eye crept downward, viewing the large structure sporting a cross.

I regarded this favor with caution and careful consideration. So long as 82 hours did not pass without them both writing a name, no punishment would be set upon them. But were they allowed to go down together?

Asking the King would not suffice. Gaining an audience with him would take far too long, and he may bar them from departure. I could not risk the sandy glass' wellbeing.

But… I could not recall ever hearing of a law that forbid two Shinigami departing as partners.

The mono eye snapped to the metallic death god. "Will you… help me?"

"I will," Veilacious assured, nodding as a promise. For some moments, I considered this request further.

Feathered wings stretched to the sky, joined by wings of bone laced with seaweed and layered with rusty flakes.

Together they swooped down and circled the large homestead, peering through windows to gauge a possible placing. Children of various ages and namesakes unrelated to one another occupied the rooms, serving as a most peculiar sight for the crowlike being observing them under desperate conditions of its own.

"Hel," rasped Veilacious' guttural call. She was joined at the outer windowsill swiftly.

Twins sporting onyx hair, the girl sporting a curtain of bangs over ebony eyes, one brought down by a downturned head exposing the nape of her neck. A sandy glass safe between an array of slender, pale curled fingers.

The most beautiful, precious sandy glass of all.

"That's the one," I murmured.

An outstretched hoof met with padded flooring. The hunched boy gnawing at his thumb with thick ashy bags under his eyes stared aimlessly at the wall, oblivious to the supernatural presence overlooking him and his sibling.

Strangely, as noticed earlier, the boy's name was different. I did not bother to remember the previous lettering, but I recalled enough to know that the singular letter 'L' was not his name.

For the girl, her name remained as it was years before.

Dwarfed by the towering figure shrouding her frame, the girl appeared tiny for a child that'd most certainly grown since the last time I'd been at her side. In all honesty, I'd be quite lacking in integrity to deny I'd lingered overlooking the child's frame.

When compared to her brother, she appeared quite stunted in her growth.

Tiny, in every sense of the word save for the long draping hair covering her shoulders and stretching to her stomach where the sandy glass sat protectively monitored by cool tempered skin.

A feathered wing swept over thick bangs. Their length allowed for them to remain parted, held out of place by their ends intermingling with separate strands and revealing her small, softly breathing face.

Were it not for the coloration of her features and name the same as I'd last oversaw, I highly doubted I'd be as perplexed as I was now.

A rust flaked skull phased through wooden walls separating peaceful children from the world's elements. "Hel?"

The girl remained overshadowed by a being significantly dwarfing her size when placed side by side for some moments longer when, at long last, a feathered wing swept over the sandy glass and claimed its figure. The girl stirred at its absence, fingers searching the bedspread.

Having retrieved what'd for years been sought, there was no longer any reason to linger any longer.

Veilacious followed her partner's form with glowing slits, helm only parting from the homestead and joining the rest of her body once she was joined outside by the same death god she left with. Neither moved. One confused, one forlorn.

They couldn't wait forever, of course. It didn't take long for idle wings to continue their conquest in search of curios and strange trinkets.

"Hel… Why did you wait?"

"Humans…" I waited for my voice to return. "Grow so… Strangely."

Still, Veilacious eyed her partner as they passed through an idle bus. "Humans grow closer to their death every day, and that one was certainly no exception. What do you see in that one?"

The mono eye fell from her form, keeping track of their surroundings. "She dies… so young. It's hard… not to…" The mono eye narrowed, searching for adequate, two-part words. "Cur-rii-...-ous."

Eyeing the one at her side, Veilacious harrumphed in disbelief. I further outstretched the wings acting as arms, quickening received traveltime.

I came to an abrupt stop outside a large glass window housing manmade curios. Veilacious joined my side, shining slits far within the skull lacking embodiment scanning the structure's insides.

She paused. Veilacious phased inside, presenting a stick adorned with three crescent shapes at its end.

I regarded the stick with a tilted head, seeking to gauge the item's worth. As if to explain her choice in selection, she held the trinket high above her head in waiting. Minutes passed without incident, furthering my confusion.

That is, until a breeze met with the crescents at the end.

The shapes animated and spun, sparkling under moonlight. When the breeze passed them by completely, the shapes lost their lively movement, slowing like wheels under a machine's hold.

Veilacious flicked a crescent shape, and the spinning sparkles began once more. "This is the one."

"How did... you know… what it… would do?"

She spared the horizon a gaze full of longing. "Once, I found a human deep within the countryside. His place of living housed many white machines mimicking shapes such as this." The corner of what counted as lips for her upturned in a lopsided grin. "So I had him hang himself on one. It was quite…" Chuckles rumbled within her throat. "Humorous."

Noted.

The mono eye swiveled with the skull it arched and peered inside. Veilacious grunted, prompting a reason for such erratic movements. A Death Note balanced at the end of a curled feathered wing. "Before… return… need names."

Twinkling golden slits peered behind the Shinigami blocking their view. A metallic claw rose. The mono eyed followed.

Two youths interlocking arms appeared swooned with one another's appearance. The girl pressed close to the boy's torso, giggling under his warm gaze.

Oliver Mill. Stacy Richards.

How convenient.

Under their Death Notes' shared timing, both adolescents went blank faced and laid face down in the road just as they'd come under observation; side by side.

Their spines snapped under a truck's weight, blood spurting on the road.

And so the Shinigami returned to their respective realm.

For the death gods in question, countless untold hours were spent where the spinning stick and sandy glass served as a constant source of awe and amusement. Mahogany wood held the strange glass in place. Flipping the sandy glass allowed for the cream colored sand to continue to pool over and over again without end, and because of the thickness of the glass, it not only never lost a single spec, but the sand appeared to float - a trait that'd long since trained complete focus on every sandy glass that'd once sat neatly in carefully assorted rows that'd long since been ruined.

That did not mean the sandy glass received constant attention, however. Whereas Veilacious gave the spinning stick a healthy break every now and again, the crowlike figure at her side overlooking the human world broke away from the glass trinket only to peer down at the homestead housing a great many children.

Revelry for one was torment for another.

Like the time the sandy glass had been taken for a few days when she was small, the girl who'd clung to the trinket in question quivered and wailed when brought outside to receive a healthy dose of sunlight and fresh air.

She did not shriek, but neither did she move. The only time she so much as stretched a leg outside her little self made ball of arms and calves was when she flailed for freedom when a middle aged man moved her around the homestead for the sake of outside air.

Sometimes, the twin would occupy her outside. The manner in which he sat appeared uncomfortable for humans, and yet he never deviated from the position in which he chose to do so. Often he toted around sweets and candies, lapping away at rose colored discs on a stick or forking colored triangles adorned with strawberries and cream.

The boy offered a piece to his twin. It went unacknowledged, and the boy angled the fork close to her bagged lids. "C'mon, a little cake won't hurt."

Ebony eyes darted behind curled knees.

The boy shrugged, shoveling the small chunk past his lips for his own enjoyment. He chewed every bite well and on time, though it wasn't long before his pace started to slow.

Eventually he sighed, setting the silver platter and remaining cakehalf by the girl's feet. "Not eating's not gonna make it come back, you know."

The girl merely shook her head, thin jutting shoulders sinking further into a baggy tunic.

Where the boy's toes hooked and rubbed against one another, the girl's dug into dirt and blades of grass, dirtying the sweatpant cuffs reaching beyond the heel of her foot. Sometimes, her foot full on dragged back and forth, creating streaks in the dirt and a dark layer on the soles.

Eventually, though, she considered it. The boy quickly took notice, forking another small chunk and offering it at eye level.

The girl's nose curled, ebony orbs darting to her brother. Realizing his mistake, the boy brought the fork close to himself and picked off the top, crumbs showering the ground like snowfall, before offering it again. This time she accepted it, letting him shovel a bite past her lips and chewing slowly.

Her eyes lightened. The girl uncurled, and the boy peeled off the top for himself before he continued to feed her the remaining cake. She successfully took in most of what was offered, only occasionally spitting out seemingly miniscule bits off to the side that didn't appear any different from the rest.

In the end, only the back end reminiscent of 'crust' and flat bottom remained. Those went to the boy, who pinched them like cubes in a cup of a red liquid recognized as tea.

All seemed well.

Then she leaned in the bushes, violently retching up the sugar her stomach was no longer used to.

The boy refrained from touching her when skillfully pinching her hair back, longingly peering at the silver platter with dour, drooping eyes.

"What a waste of cake…"

After this, more attention was paid to the girl from the gods above. Over time, her condition worsened, and her slow growth stunted further until she practically stood below her brother's chest. Her eyes drooped and held bags despite adequate nights filled with sleep; her arms and legs thinned; her cheeks sunk, nails paled, lips and hair thinned; all around the young child's body began to deteriorate.

Shinigami were no stranger to the disorders humans were subjected to, but this slow degradation spanning a long duration over the months didn't appear to be purposeful. And so, everyday, she once again gained a frequent observer, and on occasion, she gained two should the rusted one's interest pique.

That is, she did until she disappeared after an hour was spent looking over the sandy glass as it emptied its top for the first time in months.

For the first time since crippling fiery damnation under the King's wrath, I knew nothing but fear. None had been near this particular portal save for Veilacious, and scouring her Death Note in search of the girl's name proved fruitless.

The girl's lifespan held another 22 years, so unless someone had written her name, she couldn't be dead!

What if another human harmed her? Lifespan dictated death, not good or bad quality of life.

What if she ran away?

What if she was taken by an older man and…?

Feathered wings rose to the sky and trembled with clicking bones full of rage at the thought of the girl's ebony eyes filling with something other than increasingly critical alertness.

For days she did not return. The boy, her twin, appeared a little down, but resumed his usual activities without hindrance.

How could he be so calm? Did he know where she was? She was certainly not in the homestead - it'd been scoured top to bottom, enough so its namesake 'Wammy's' was overhead!

So where was she?

No answers were ever given. Still, the homestead remained under close observation.

"You play a dangerous game."

A mono eye snapped away from the portal overlooking Winchester to find shining yellow slits locked straight on without bothering to make their movements subtle.

She received only a dragged out croak in response. A scoff.

Shining yellow slits lengthened in width, and guttural croaks, clacks, whistles, and gurgles took on a warning tone. "Those in the human world are not meant to be doted and cared for by those that spend their time dawdling high above. To do so is to risk it all - despair, as you have been well acquainted with before, will take you in her passing when your refusal to claim names overrules your will to live."

This forewarning was taken into consideration.

She received a head shake. "She dies… young." The mono eye darted back to the human world. "Can't grow… attached… when life… is short… compared…" A wing curled to gesture to a bony body. "To time… alive."

Veilacious grunted with disapproval. "You have feelings for her."

'Feelings' for a human from a Shinigami ranged in many different terms and depths. Most often, they referred to feelings such as hate or annoyance.

Rarely, however, it referred to love of several kinds, adoration, or concern.

With this in mind, concern most certainly felt like the right term.

A mawed, split skull lined with curved sharp fangs bobbed in confirmation. Veilacious shook her head, splitting off growing seaweed and rumbling a loud gurgle that mimicked a sigh. "Part with her. If you wish… I can write her name before these feelings progress as she matures."

"IS FINE!" Hissed sharply in protest.

Quad giant wings spread high and lengthy in warning, threatening to bring pain or worse should she so much as consider the act.

Bony, rusted lips pursed and dragged. "Very well. Should you die lacking years as time shifts and your will withers away, I will retrieve your Death Note for myself, regardless of any wishes you may have for its embodiment after your permanent departure."

"Don't care," I growled.

Only when her Death Note was set off to the side did dark feathered wings lower. Sprouted wings nearly sheathed themselves at their own accord by the end of the month where the moon became 'new' and nighttime sported pitch dark skies, streetlights acting as the world around the homestead's only external solace.

As the weeks progressed, I began to lose hope the girl would ever return.

The world recreates my psyche in its picture.

Then a day came where the twin stood at the street alongside Quillsh Wammy. The new change was watched very closely, to the point the sandy glass was neglected almost entirely. A black limousine pulled up to the homestead, and the girl stepped into view for the first time in what felt to be eternity.

Notably, the girl began toting around a metal stand with wheels. A thin tube held in place by stripped tape pierced her left wrist, another filling a nostril, both lines hanging limply where the metal stand hung two drooping transparent bags.

The first bag held the water dripping through a little metal device at a rhythmic pace before the liquid could carry to her insides. The second held something white pushing through her nose.

Once again the girl posed another series of questions on the curious mind overlooking her life. If she looked healthier than when she disappeared, why keep the medicine?

Could humans appear healthy while they were ill?

Regardless whether or not they could, it didn't matter. So long as the girl was safe, satisfaction was guaranteed.

After returning, the girl could eat on her own accord without throwing up the meal or becoming nauseous. Brief visits to the human world where a name would be written miles away so as not to disturb her daily life provided ample insight as to why this change was possible. During breakfast, she took a pill while she ate a small, specially adjusted meal. At lunch, the tube in her nostril was removed, and she chewed salmon squares slowly.

Worry rose potent and sharp on days her face threatened to turn green during the lunch hours. On those days, she could not finish her lunch. If she forced it - which was rare, seeing as even the slightest deviation in texture made her cry and abandon her tray - then she visibly ached for the rest of the day's remaining duration.

After a few months, she appeared… healthy. I'd been mistaken when I first saw her step out the vehicle after a long absence. Her skin seemed to glow, her mood lightened, and she even took to drawing as a hobby between schooling hours - which, for her, was adjusted as needed by the Wammy man in charge of the homestead, including a silent, neutral palettes room made out of a storage closet. The whole experience was quite a sight to behold, and I was joyful. Once again, the Death Note went neglected.

Then a bus sped past when she was in the courtyard, sirens blaring and lights flashing as law enforcement trailed the speeding vehicle, and 'all Hell broke loose'.

First she shrieked. Then she cried.

Then her body collapsed, and little bedridden Ahmya, confined to her room, sweat bullets and went grey with stress.

For the first time in all of existence, I cried.

The first garbled sounds went unnoticed and suffocated under what'd originally sparked as rage and whipping wings, but strange, unfamiliar tones took over like an iron crushing the throat. Burning escaped the mono eye, trailing bone and drooping between cracks, holes, and little craters in the structure of randomly arranged bones. This prickly, strange feeling would have gone unnoticed and allowed to tag along the stress and anger vented through croaks and screeches were it not for Veilacious' fearful face.

Lips surrounding a small rectangular opening thinned and stretched, bony legs taking carefully constructed backward steps in a miniature retreat. "You bleed," sharply gasped a garbled squeak. "You leak as they do!"

"DON'T CARE," screeched in answer, satisfying no scholar and their nonexistent questions in its simplicity.

The Death Note plapped flat atop sand with scarce regard for its well being. Shining slivers flicked to the black cover. "... What are you planning to do?"

Skull thrown back, gaping maw flexing with creaks and snaps, a screech escaped an empty throat. "MAKE SICK… SO KILL!"

A mono eye scoured the surrounding environment, a dark wing practically tearing the notebook open to reveal its contents. The right wing pressed the spike at its end to the pages, crumpling and tearing the paper beneath with the force pressed into their shape.

Veilacious joined my side, her movements slow. Calculated. "Kill who?"

"MAKE SICK!"

Glowing slits stretched in width. A critical stare. "You've only yourself to blame for this mystery illness."

"KILL SICK… MAKER!"

A metallic claw outstretched where the trinket lay. "It all started when you took that sandy glass."

It hadn't even been considered. The distress displayed at her side became potently palpable. "If you return it, perhaps the human you feel for shall regain lost health."

The idea was improvised. Grasping at straws.

But it just might work.

"NO!"

Veilacious jolted, taken aback. "You do not wish to see her health return?"

"No…." The gaping maw flexed, the fangs curling and twitching as it twisted and swiveled side to side in rapid succession. "No… NO!"

Irritation sparked in scratchy droves, churning atop the surface of her form. "No what?"

No answer. Quad wings fell, drooping with shoulders. And so Veilacious understood what 'no' meant.

The Shinigami leaned close, lowering to a whisper. "You may deny returning the glass would prove effective, but how can you know? You have not tried it. You deny it because you're selfish."

"No…"

"We take lives for our own benefit," Veilacious scoffed. "Do not take it as an insult or consider it shameful. It's how we live. Write her name down and be done with it. Keep your trinket."

"No!"

Shining slits brightened in ferocity. "No? So you're willing to be selfish and torment her psyche, but not be selfish and free her from the torment you created?" Chuckles gargled deep in a rusty, flaky throat directed at the skull split with a gaping maw drooping in shame. Veilacious tore seaweed from her socket, holding the oozing, damp strip out in a gesture to the sandy glass cupped in navy curled wings. "You hold twisted, strange ideals, and use them to justify without consulting proper logic. Go then. Return the trinket to the human world. There are plenty of others just like it."

"No…"

"What chopped logic do you entertain? Sentimentality will change nothing based in reality," Veilacious cooed in a chiding growl. "Pick one. Either you torment the girl you feel for or relieve her troubles." The slits spared the child a moment of consideration. After a moment, they flared amber, dilating until they resembled short slivers. "Even if only partially at this point."

Quad wings didn't move, save for sorrowed trembles.

A second Death Note opened. A pen pressed to its pages.

"Last chance," Veilacious stated. The mono eye flicked from the human world, to the sandy glass, to the metallic Shinigami ready to write a child's name. She did not speak softly; she did not care to give comfort or ease the mind. But, save for the questioning of faulty logic, she did not chide or mock, either. "Give it to the girl or I end this perplexing brigade. It is an obsession. One that can either be altered…" Amber slits flicked to the sandy glass. They darted to the girl laying unawares of the brother sitting odd and crooked at her bedside. Slivers returned to their previous golden nature. "Or focused on."

She paused at the tweet sounding from a gaping maw.

A strange, new noise reached through innumerable bony craters, refusing to cease when pressed with feathered wings or muffled when stifled or chuffed. All sound, twisted and strange, filtered through pathetic, rubbery squeaks.

Tears overflowed the empty, eyeless socket adjacent to the mono eye. Craters and cracks glimmered, raining in long, thick globs down upon lifeless sand. This strange, unrelenting fluid poured freely from the gaping maw; what humanity would associate with saliva by the placement only acted as sorrow- a weeping so fiercely heated that no orifice was safe from this downpour.

Tears escaped through the chest.

Tears escaped through the side.

Tears escaped through the cracks; tears escaped through the spine.

Despair.

She ogled the scenery, frozen in place by an unfamiliar shock. Chuckling raspy and smug, she shook her head. Veilacious spoke quietly when inking the child's name. "By Heaven's grace… You truly lack all pride, don't you?"

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"No."

A single muttered word broke the silence.

Veilacious' gaze lifted from the Death Note laid across her palm. She kept silent.

The trembling form overlooking the human world choked a strange sound. "No… I shall… return… sandy… glass."

A chuckle.

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With the name misspelt for extra security, the Death Note snapped shut. "Very well. I shall be here when you return."

Hooved legs straightened, sandy crumbling through infection spotted fur. The mono eye snapped to the death god sitting in waiting, who grunted as a prompt for her onlooker to speak.

"Cruel," I rasped.

Veilacious grinned.

I made sure to keep the bittersweet trip to the human world short.

Distance made twisted with the sorrow of reality in a makeshift form and felt like distance lost, the seconds dragging on without mercy like a clock stuck in a pattern of jumping between two crucial digits. Bitter winds that'd once acted as a familiar calling card now whistled and tormented the death god gliding through their shared space, twanging their hymn like metal on metal.

It was as if the world knew the strangeness given kindness was from such a being.

The window of opportunity given was made brief. A whipped wing knocked a table out of place, piercing the air with scraping wood. The boy's attention latched onto the startling sound, bagged eyes widening far beyond their usual.

When he turned back, to say he was perplexed to witness the sandy glass balled in his sister's fist for the first time in what had nearly been a year would be an understatement.

"Does this mean you'll give yourself enough time to write names?"

The metallic god of death received no answer. Only a slow, shuddering exhale. The tears dried up.

When the girl awoke, it was as if nothing had ever been wrong in all her days.

Ebony orbs fixated without pause on the sandy glass. Whether it was still or depleting sand from one side to the other didn't matter. The neutral stare never departed the sandy glass, and the trinket in turn never departed from her tight grasp. Stress radiating off her person depleted to nothing. Food became its usual practice, no longer hindered or accompanied by tubes. Constant nerves swimming parasitic fishes in her belly, disrupting the daily routine every which way and worsening with every step, calmed under the sandy glass and its mystical ability to relieve one particular being's woes.

Relief and deep care linked two beings together. One in a wealthy homestead for children without families or scooped from the street…

The other in a realm where life is earned through death. One where, as above, so below, those practicing cruelty achieved a way of life unknown or unable to be grasped or gained for most others.

And yet, no matter the amount of differences setting a wall between them, the one from above could not, for the life of anything, understand when the one below set the hourglass down. Even Veilacious - the death god who could barely care less for the girl in question - froze in shock.

The Shinigami shared a look.

Veilacious shrugged.

It wasn't long before the presumed reason was uncovered. The girl with a deep seated love for sandy glass never lost touch with the coping mechanisms gained over the course of a year without her beloved trinket. In the evening, drawing became mandatory whether the noon had been occupied with practice or not. She sketched faces. Distorted faces, but faces nonetheless. She sketched trees. The clouds. The sun, the ocean, the sky - sometimes, she drew all three.

Most often of all, however, were entire pages dedicated to the precious sandy glass.

Relinquishing the privilege to view the steadily skilled creations was an extraordinarily rare event. For the brother, the occasional glance was offered when the girl extended the sketchbooks for him to see. Mostly, the boy refrained from commenting, but the few words he did speak regarding the drawings shown were brief and concise notes or questions. Despite a lack of words, he always nodded when the lead pointed to something around them or plastered to the page.

It appeared the pencil appeared to be the bridge between silent communication and understanding.

A question churning down an eternal spiral met with the world for the first time. "Why not… speak?"

"Hm?"

Finishing a name, Veilacious' peace of mind tore from the Death Note in her palm. The mono eye appeared snarky, lifting the veil that came with limited expression.

Upon realizing there'd be no repetition, the other Shinigami thought over the sounds that'd crossed the space between them and grunted in a manner that signalled she'd heard.

She thought for a moment. A claw's point angled to the crowlike death god. "Some humans do not possess the capability to make sound." A corner rose in a lopsided grin. "Although, I find it quite amusing you, of all residing here, would ask that."

"I speak," clicked out defensively.

Veilacious chuckled, slits returning to the human world. "That you do."

A caw resonated passive aggressively. It went unacknowledged.

I chuffed, the spike at the right wing's tip mimicking her claw in its movements to gesture to the human world. "Makes sound."

Such an observation had been proved a great many times for the girl. Unperturbed, Veilacious mulled over all options known to her and hummed, intrigued at the realization. "True… Then I do not know. In fact, I simply haven't a single clue. Perhaps it is beyond my current comprehension."

"Perhaps," I grumbled.

How aggravating.

After years of yearning, a year of ownership was far from satisfactory, and the sorrow brought with the sandy glass' loss never quite dissipated, but the content nature through which the girl lived her life proved exponentially more satisfactory than a curious collection or worship of trinkets when her daily activities found themselves at the forefront of attention. What most found mundane or unnoteworthy - literally as much as it was true figuratively - quickly became the rock dragging my woes deep in a river of apathy, weighing them down until they drowned and dissipated out of sight and out of mind.

But dissipation did not mean an erasure of their worldly bounds.

I detested all who sought to harm the girl who long since stole my will to occupy days sporting sunshine or grey fog with anything other than her well being. Despite well meaning intentions, these feelings likewise twisted a dull, toothy dagger deep in my being with new concerns over an old memory. A memory in which I stole the sandy glass the girl loved so much just to see what would happen.

If I caused her pain- if I robbed her of a voice through an act that made her shriek with fear for the world for days at a time, what punishment was I deserving of?

Death could not so much as be considered. Not because I feared it - I did, very much so. But if I accepted death with open arms, how was I to watch over sweet Ahmya?

And so new methods were considered.

Veilacious at first rejected any role in this self deprecating 'martyrdom', but the temptation to observe pain and new ways to bring harm to beings such as herself she'd yet to try or witness swiftly overcame the argument that punishing myself for something that may not even be true would, logically, not even solve the problem made in the first place.

So, the King was consulted. A trip to the human world and a sack of red, juicy apples thricefold the amount I had ever offered the King, and an instrument of torture was produced.

When the sun rose on the side of the human world separate from the girl and her waking hours became presumably peaceful dreams a bed away from her brother, the Shinigami overlooking her took to spending the night hours surrounded by the smell of burnt flesh.

Screams and shrieks for mercy only goaded vicious Veilacious further. Irons branded seemingly endless marks of torment wherever they pleased. A spiked mace strapped at the end for added momentum snapped bone, its points lined with scalding obsidian that never cooled. Wings tore under crooked scissors, dark feathers piling heaps of sand as their forms dissolved.

By morning, torture turned to healing. Overlooking the human world became a test of sheer grit and will. As an added bonus, close observation was made mandatory. Veilacious, under my own request, noted seven details a day revolving around the girl's life. If so much as one was incorrect or deemed insufficiently described by the time the girl's head hit the pillow and the time came to verbally repeat them, my eye would be forfeit for the rest of the night.

Seeing as time shifted strangely between the Shinigami realm and the human world, a close eye on how the human world appeared to be lit was important. Sometimes nights lasted what felt like forever. In truth, they probably were. Other times, Veilacious' gleeful, endless ravaging of my body's reliability seemed over in the blink of a mono eye. Knowing this, risking my eye on purpose, even if it'd heal over the course of a day - or not, depending on how long the human world's waking hours appeared to last - became an agonizing temptation. An itch.

An impossible, undying itch. One that begged to quench its thirst in a puddle of pain, never eased in its cry to share the rest of my body's plight, and swelled increasingly staunchly by the hour.

Were it not for a fierce paranoia warning that it may be possible to lose the only source of vision available forever, I'd have indulged this itch as much as it wanted.

Twilight brought rightly deserved pain, and pink skies marked the many days that brought the searches for an unachievable redemption to an end.

The first hour sweet Ahmya was awake, her most awestruck observer trembled and clung to inverted deep legs in the process of healing. The mono eye quivered even when locked on to her moving form. No more did it wander to scope out possible harm.

If any came to her, the perpetrator would die slow in agony.

"I only spoke to you that day because your suffering was funny, you know," Veilacious mentioned out of the blue. The split skull with a gaping maw tilted ever so slightly in acknowledgement that she was speaking. "If not for my curiosity, I wouldn't have stuck around."

"Figured," I grunted.

She barked a single growled laugh. "Of course you did."

"Over… human?"

A metallic claw spun the rotating stick end. Veilacious spoke casual, reminiscing the time before her years became intertwined with mine. "Your visits to the human world were all the rage and gossip I'd here talk of. Hearing the same thing over and over became annoying. I wanted to see it for myself. By the time I got here, it became clear how pathetic you were."

Croaks carried a disparaged harrumph in response. Mockery came natural and frequent enough it wasn't dawdled on.

She shrugged and continued. "I wanted to witness if what had been rumored centuries ago was true- or even possible, for that matter. A Shinigami gaining feelings for a human outside disregard or a negative inclination based on a particularly unpleasant face." Golden slits far beyond empty eye sockets twinkled. Her voice dropped any and all negative aspects typically applied to her character, forcing even the harshest gargled growls to become soft. "To my surprise, it was."

The sheer warmth extended with those last words made me pause. An all too familiar side eyed view shifted to a direct, front face stare. The twinkle went under careful consideration with the strange tone. For a Shinigami as sadistic as Veilacious was, such niceties were quite…

Peculiar.

The twinkle turned to that of amusement, a deep, guttural laugh bursting in air, and the surprise fell with the realization the moment hadn't been anything special. "Do not mistake my awe for scrupulous admiration! I might as well find company in those whose ranks only hit single digits!"

"Why be… awed?"

Laughter came to an abrupt stop. Flickering slivers ogled wordlessly as if they'd overheard all Death Notes had vanished.

Or that she'd just discovered the dumbest god of death to have ever existed in their shared realm.

"Forget." I pondered my words to inquire further. Veilacious remained motionless. "Why stay?"

The mono eye darted to sweet Ahmya.

Hours in the human world passed slowly this day. As usual, it kept its steady, unchanging pace when viewed directly, but for those who did not peer into the boundary separating man and gods, the time spent waiting for new faces to grow so as to prevent any chance of wiping humanity, their shared source of life, off the Earth appearing to take weeks to so much as reach noon.

In all that time, Veilacious didn't make so much as a peep. Didn't even twitch, for that matter. I tore my eyes away from the human world only once, and that sparked curiosity over what must have struck the other death god dumbstruck.

Evening colored Winchester orange and pink, the drooping sun dragging a blanket of indigo as it went.

A low, garbled whisper crossed the space between them. "Because you reminded me of someone I once knew."

With night on the rise and sweet Ahmya readying for bed, the mono eye fixed itself on the Shinigami who'd finally figured out how to speak.

Shining slivers crossed the boundary between gold and amber. Bony legs folded against a rust flaked chest adorning long seaweed streamers. Soft spoken, Veilacious peered into the sand. "And… I was lonely."

It came out mumbled. Were it not for careful dedication to attention, the words would have been lost to time as something unintelligible their speaker refused to repeat.

A single bob of a split skull acknowledged the words reimposed with void for their absence. "I see."

They shared the remaining hours of the day in silence. As dusk reached its end, a cauldron of dread shook and overflowed its superheated contents. This dark, parched ooze pooled and created a frosty, scalding extreme. Feathered wings trembled as they would were they an overflowing cauldron, and bones clacked and rattled when fear surpassed the carefully maintained space long ago established when the framework they collectively shaped into being strained under the unseen.

Sweet Ahmya laid in bed restless, ebony orbs tracing every square inch the ceiling had to offer. At her brother's plainspoken, brusque command disguised as a suggestion to shut her lids and let sleep take her - 'If you don't sleep, you'll be tired tomorrow.' to be specific - sleep became a very appealing subject.

Red ringed lids shrouded ebony orbs.

Wistful glances of a mono eye darted around the surrounding homestead, searching for any sign of danger for the first time in a long while. Rusted metal groaned and chafed against bone, the sound ceasing once Veilacious stood at her full height.

She approached from behind. "It's time."

No longer was she quiet. In fact, she seemed to have wholly returned to normal.

A slow, heavy exhale sighed sharp and escaped carrying the weight of dread. "I know." The split skull duped with shame. Why couldn't the will to greet deserved punishment be summoned? "Just give… Me a… Moment."

"... Alright."

Because if it was desired, how would it be punishment?

Hating the experience was good. It means I'm truly being punished.

"For one… lonely… you sure… are quite… callous."

Veilacious barked a laugh. Only one. The silence filling the hours before threatened to rise again.

Metal and bone crunched and churned when she went to sit at my side, lips pushing soft, but indifferent, words. "You don't have to do this, you know. Punishment won't change things."

"It will… rightly… serve as… a price… to right… bad wrongs… and to… instill… a sense… of hesit-tuh-...-tation."

"You won't take an opportunity to escape pain? Over a human you haven't even wronged?"

"Could have," I rasped in correction. "Maybe… did wrong."

"Going off on maybes makes a reality check all the more necessary."

"Deserve… pain."

"Why do you have me do this, really?"

Chuffs escaped through a gaping maw. "Wouldn't… unders-...stand."

"Don't tell me you're punishing yourself over making her cry if, by chance, you didn't cause her silence."

No confirmation. No denial. Increased sulking.

Veilacious threw her arms out in exasperation. "You're a Shinigami!-"

"Feelings," I croaked, cutting her off, "... do not... care for… logic."

"Do you?"

Perhaps she will strike. "... No."

Growls rumbled deep across a rusty metallic surface. Jaundiced amber slivers shone bright with fury, the added heat radiating enough to melt steel. A face normally pleasured when given the opportunity to cause drawn out pain twisted with rage.

It all stopped as soon as it started.

A mono eye peaked at the Shinigami sitting off to the left as she usually does.

Oddly enough, Veilacious slouched, metallic claw flicking the spinning stick's aqua shapes. "You're hopeless. At first I thought you'd get over this… fixation. But it seems you gave me one of my own."

"That is?"

She sighed and gave the spinning stick an extra flick before it could slow to a stop. The plastic whirred, its speed blurring a circle into existence. "I do not know." Golden slits peered over in a side eyed view. "Perhaps I only wish to see what happens…"

Flicking. Flicking.

More flicking. "Let me tell you a story."

The spinning stick received no mercy.

"Years ago, I met someone who claimed to have fallen in love with a perfect creature. This creature, he said, had red atop her head; a red so bold he could scarcely believe such a color was possible after centuries filled with nothing but dust, bones, names, and aimless wandering. The problem was that this creature was old. Soon, it would die."

Gold slits stretched in width, testing their limits in length. A metallic claw brought the spinning stick to a stop, teetering the revolving ends in slow back and forth movements.

"At first I'd thought it a practical joke - albeit, not a very good one. But I laughed nonetheless. I humored him, asking questions. He'd join me wherever it was I sat when I went to write a name so long as it was not too far from his beloved, but he would not write names. Only chat, swoon, and debate what afterlife may meet a Shinigami who no longer could live… If any at all."

The claw tapped individual 'blades'. The ones that spin. Every three taps lead to a small amount in added force.

"These debates were… lively. I will admit, I enjoyed myself. If God - or several Gods - created all there is, was, and will ever be, surely He created Shinigami, and we as His reapers would bask in Heaven after years of servitude. If not… if God made us, but denied us Heaven, surely we, as despicable demons, would be destined for Hell, proving once and for all that whatever God there may be is a cruel God indeed. But as users of Death Notes - ones who depend on its power in order to survive - what if we are denied both? IF that is what awaits us… what should we expect in the void? Do Shinigami have souls?"

The stick would spin uninterrupted. When it stopped, the claw would tap up to three times and spin it again.

"If we do not have souls, how are we to live? To feel?"

The spinning stick slowed to a stop. Without guidance, the spinning part sat lifeless and dull.

"One day, I sought his presence. He did not arrive."

It fell through lazy, uninterested digits. Sand began to couple around the fans.

"Those who recognized me as someone who tolerated his presence explained in great detail that the human woman who long ago caught his attention passed away as she slept. Upon realizing this, the Shinigami who filled my lonesome hours with curious wonder immediately descended down to the human world with one intention; to kill a human with his bare hands, and afterward receive the feared 'extreme' punishment that'd once whispered from the lips of the King. He knew it would kill him. And still… he accepted it as if it were destined to be."

Blue fans began to dwindle away. Jagged digits retrieved the spinning stick before the degradation could pursue any further than the tips.

Veilacious held the spinning at eye level. "If there is a God, I do not like Him. The concept of an omnipotent being is daunting. Anything He wants can come into being without so much as the snap of His fingers. Including punishment for those creations, whose fates are, assumingly, not theirs to lead and see to their own decided end. At the very least, He could have made it so love was rewarded in all ways. Instead, His choice formed beings that hated Him, loved Him, and questioned Him, all while forcing them to live under the guise that if they do not worship Him, they will suffer in whichever layer of Hell they are sent to without end, mercy, or compassion. Even I am capable of such mistakes. They cannot be helped. Withheld, of course. Denied, also possible. But should that day ever arise, at least I will not be the one that throws my life away over something brief."

Amber slivers dampened in their luminosity. A metallic claw once again began to stimulate the spinning stick into animating its fans. "If nothing else, indulge as much as you please, but please. If not for precise, carefully considered logic, we may be falling into a childish God's hands. A trap, if you will. Should you die… an eternity of suffering awaits you. If not, Heaven. If not, void. Regardless, you will no longer exist. Just as the Shinigami who filled my hours with pleasing commentary, you, too, will become something rumored to be neither rust nor sand. Of which, only one of these rumors I have come to confirm…"

"Unlike the God whose childish whims lead to internal conflict, plague, and misery, Shinigami, when not set to rot with our home realm as the literal embodiment of selfishness, truly feel for those below us."

…

"Hel," popping gargles coached. "Speak."

A slow head shake.

A slow head shake that turned rapid and jittery.

Bone and metal scraped each other as their joined figure further folded and leaned. "So why is it that you do not speak," Veilacious implored, "if you see truth in my words?"

"Doesn't… matter."

Succor snapped to scorn. "Fine, then. Have it your way. Just know you're bound for death. I tried to help; I did my part. Do not bemoan your fate."

Rapid head shakes expressed disbelief. And yet, internally, the truth remained undenied.

Accepted, even.

Aggravation began to stir. Logic fought emotion, driving it forward both in rejection and acknowledging truths. But then, why did it matter?

Why did anything matter?

Existence is pain.

Living is an embodiment and conduit for the fear of death.

But why live if the only reason the colors of the world became vibrant died?

All this thinking seethed the rotten broth within into overactivity. Restlessness plagued my body from head to toe, frothing diseased rats skittering across every limb.

Sweet Ahmya…

With a jolt, I realized something crucial. A mono eye darted to the slumped, rusted Shinigami nearest. She began ignoring the pestering presence mere feet away. "Punish… me."

Pleads for punishment, cracking and hesitant, proved useless. That is, until it dragged on far too long for her liking.

Grumbling, Veilacious slowly transitioned from looking at sand to the human world. She spared a half assed excuse. "It's more effective if you don't know it's coming." Her jagged, chipped chin upturned a tad. "Besides. Self indulgence gets dull after a while. Watching you wallow will be fun for a change."

Much to my horror, much deserved, agonizing punishment became progressively neglected. I dreaded it all the same, but to lack it entirely? If one did wrong, they needed correction. Pain instilled correction in the psyche in a great many ways. How was I to learn and be truly, undeniably corrected, never to hurt sweet Ahmya ever again in any way, shape, or form, if I could not receive said punishment?

At first, Veilacious kept an erratic pattern for her self indulgence to filter through. As the days grew farther and farther apart, I steadily noticed a lack of effort on her part.

With a waiting period consisting only a few days spotted throughout a human week, my hours would be filled with somewhat tolerable, albeit disorienting, pain. Feathers would rejuvenate far too early for my liking. Bones returned to their previous shape by noon, where all but pre existing cracks would merge once more to their original shape.

Disgusting.

A trick.

And lastly, for the first time, hate.

Her technique was useless. If it was useless, why was it so effective?

Passing glances accompanied smug smirks. A simple trick of the mind.

She sought me to torment myself to add to the damage done. A blessing. To be cursed is what I deserve.

It drove me mad.

A Shinigami who takes pleasure and clearly holds a high standard in thought most certainly sought this result. When confronted with aggravated demands to explain her trick, all that could be received were smug, falsely stone faced denials. But I saw it. Nothing could be hidden from a mono eye.

But that could be the trick: making the one she finds opportunities for indulgence assume her hand was at work, when in reality, she had nothing to do with it.

If she had nothing to do with it, how did it work so efficiently?

Was logic toiling with emotion, pooling off the edge of an overflowing cauldron, staining the page with void colored blotches, and plaguing the psyche in all its conclusions and understandings?

This could not do.

I deserve it.

It ruins everything.

As a punishment should.

Guilt is a poison.

Indulge the flavor.

Veilacious is poison.

Indulge her.

Paranoia wracked my unstimulated mind for countless hours during human nights when sweet Ahmya retired to bed, dunking a worthless existence in grey. Pain drove me mad.

Veilacious drove me mad, as requested indirectly what seemed to be a lifetime ago.

'Punish me'.

Veilacious truly was a wondrous companion. She did what her companions requested of her with extreme, carefully convoluted plots to see to it that the request made was fulfilled and properly tempered to its end.

This realization dawned upon me at the worst time possible.

My mind rejected it, all while understanding it as fact.

A separate party from myself oversaw this weave of toxin and disease.

No matter how internal the struggle, all conflicts were carefully constructed and spectated by Veilacious. In the waking hours, no matter how stiff a fixation that was had on the girl far below, such horrifics strewn about produced subtle, irrevocably coarse discord. In exchange for the company shining light upon her days just as the girl below indisputably did for Hel- albeit, unintentionally, Veilacious made sure her end of the bargain would be as long lasting and tormenting as physically possible.

Niceties were exchanged, both as a favor and to further the conflict in a split skull. Comments made on the girl were to further their superficially growing bond.

Her plaything knew it all the while. And yet, just as predicted, emotion ruined logic just as she'd warned before this game of internal cat and mouse swiped up in the gutter in fleeting passes.

As the years progressed these efforts to their full potential, the girl continued to abstain from normalcy even as her surroundings became significantly less frightening, allowing her to wander freely without a chaperone if absolutely necessary, pouring over large canvases with all the dedication she could muster in an effort to replicate the world, all the while taking interest in medical studies where she'd suck up all information presented like a desert laden sponge. The boy matching in appearance took up tennis and challenged his peers to chess, scouring the internet the further it developed as he grew.

His body lengthened normally as expected. Hers did not. Instead, her hair 'reached for the sky' in length, as humans say, given that the mangy onyx locks met with scrawny lower calves.

In all that time, the instrument of torture brought into existence by the King went neglected all but once. This neglect, of course, served an important purpose. The day torment became background noise forever instilled, it seemed that request made all that time ago was beginning to be fulfilled.

"My name is Svengali," Veilacious, to kill the silence one night, murmured. "Svengali Veil. 'Acious' was just to drive home the point of what I like to do most."

The Shinigami at her side remained deathly still as always. Orange tinged slivers angled to side eye bones shrewd by dark feathers. "What of you? I doubt your full name is 'Hel'."

"And why… is that?"

She hummed in thought. "I suppose you just don't seem like a 'Hel', that's all."

Bonney shoulders overshadowing feathered wings shrugged. "Kali."

"Is that all?"

"No.

"So you really did have more to you… hehehe." Rusted lips thinned in a smile. "Hel Kali… you really do remind me of someone I knew. Several someone's."

"Okay."

The curt response had been unexpected enough to cause Veilacious pause and consider what may be going on in her companion's head. A mono eye glared fierce into her own.

Without predicting this sudden deviation in activity or mental suffering, she soon uncovered the adjacent veil making up the bird like death god's psyche. This realization lead to recollections where peculiar behaviors when compared to his normal popped up, and inevitably formed a conclusion regarding one imperative mistake:

She'd underestimated Kali Hel.

The mono eye shone bright with hidden fire. The stare pierced deeply, uncovering all her secrets without every indulging the details. In fact, the stare was very much like her own in a way. Critical, seething, knowing.

When prompted into action side by side with endearment's strange tsunami of different effects, curiosity, and appreciation for understanding unnecessary miscellany, these traits formed a powerful influence indeed.

For Kali Hel or others, time would only tell. Regardless, no more work was needed. Her efforts were concrete.

String pulling cast to the side alongside the instrument of torture with no name, a distanced bond snapped into full solidity. Veilacious completed what had been asked of her with scarring efficiently in an intricate art never before seen by her companion; I received my punishment in full, and held nothing but gratitude for her efforts.

Without me to serve as a distraction, Veilacious returned to writing names, and after years of overseeing Winchester would wander the edges of nearby portals to get a bird's eye view over other sections the human world had to offer, a metallic claw spinning plastic blue fans when not set to hold a pen excited to scrawl into a note of death. As for me, I continued to overlook sweet Ahmya.

The boy took his first case at 15. His absence sparked great stress on the girl. Were it not for the burner phone enabling contact between the two of them and the Wammy man housing them as they grew, there was little doubt she'd deteriorate into those grey skinned periods of debilitating stress straining her body and mind. Just as her other habits held their rituals, messages were exchanged every 4.5 hours. One in the morning, one in the afternoon, one in the early evening, and one late at night if she decided to stay up and read one of many medical textbooks with a width that'd challenge a stack of bricks or fill a now separate room from the boy's with paintings that'd circulate in their placements and removal.

Out of curiosity, sometimes I'd visit this boy during his strange manner of work when not overlooking sweet Ahmya during her quiet spells where she'd further decorate the room filled to the brim without a single space free from murals or frames that'd hide these murals.

Over the years, the boy took more cases. Sweet Ahmya gradually adjusted to her brother's absence.

Her body began to mature. Her posture remained significantly more sufficient in terms of proper treatment toward her spine than the boy, who steadily grew closer to becoming a man with every passing day. Sweet Ahmya became more expressive with improvements in her social skills. Diagrams of the human body were pulled from their place within desk drawers by darkly feathered wings as she slept. Speech was practiced - and abruptly shut down when interest shifted to something that'd caught her eye, such as the sandy glass always being toted round and about with a sketchbook or carefully balanced textbook suspended over her shoulders with leather straps.

At 17, sweet Ahmya acted as the homestead's separate medical professional - at least in terms of identifying what was wrong. A young man graduating into the world became incapable of leaving formally, as intended when he grew of age, when sweet Ahmya's leather strap laced around his ankle, yanked, and threw him on his face. As rapid tears and snot streamed down her face from the guilt that came with hurting another, rapid, lengthy fingers addressed the Wammy man before anything could be said about her little explosion at the young man who'd intended to depart.

The young man was pulled to the side. Sure enough, as those strange finger movements must have communicated, his body contorted and stiffened tightly still as a seizure overtook his form. The fall didn't help, but it ended up being the key to his survival before he could walk too far before he could be stopped.

I remembered that day well. The twin boy peered at sweet Ahmya as she wailed and smushed her ears against her temples in response to the sirens outside with owlish ebony eyes as if only now beginning to see the full extent her perception reached, a thumb dragging his lips into a lopsided crescent and letting it fall into place before executing the action once more. Her claim regarding the seizure's telltale sign? A minuscule change in one of his pupils.

The twin had undoubtedly known his sister was intelligent - even a mono eye could spot that when not paying attention. But this? This was new. Intriguing.

Nonetheless, the boy simply seemed to note this and continue as is.

Sweet Ahmya went on to become someone who healed the sick. Through her diagnosis, where doctors remained stumped or those who were financially unstable requested to be looked over. Until she was 20, she did not treat them or even visit those that came to 'Yahe' for help - only look over and promptly diagnose them.

Very rarely was physical touch or prolonged examination necessary so long as the patient stripped or did as required, whereupon they'd receive a paper detailing what was - or may possibly be - wrong with them. Nudity or revolting consequences from sexual grievances did not so much as make her bat an eye.

With 9 years of her lifespan remaining, I found endearment swelled into something more.

Love.

I loved the red rings around her eyes. I loved the ebony orbs and onyx strands acting as curtains. I loved her voice, however seldom it may so much as cry out anymore when compared to her adolescence and before. I loved how particularly unique she was. I loved the porcelain mask she wore to hide her identity amidst baggy black clothes hiding her features along the head wrap meant to ensure her hair was not able to be grabbed.

And I loved every second spent observing her that forced my concern for her well-being down my throat.

Given sweet Ahmya's scalp barely surpassed her twin's lower ribs, for most of her patients, a woman at the height of a child wrapped head to toe without an inch of skin in sight brought shock, questions, and awe.

For one, instead of the norm, for one man, the sight was founded by ravenous, vicious malice.

ђςгє๒ภєรเєђ ђςՇย๒

The man's name was written before he could even tear off sweet Ahmya's clothes. He collapsed, lips spewing blood. Crushed under the dead man's weight, sweet Ahmya, crying, trembling, was forced to squirm out from under him, scraping the porcelain mask in the process. She fled to the homestead, red faced and faint of breath after a sprint and panic combo.

Upon tearing off the porcelain mask, vomit pooled at the root of a tree. Sweet Ahmya eyed her walls in the dark for the rest of the night. When morning came, she did not rise for breakfast. This interruption in her routine brought nervous vomit. Lunch was skipped. Nervous vomit.

Touching her whitened, frozen face proved that trembles could lurk beneath skin. She did not consult her brother, even when he came to address this strange deviation. I leaned over the barrier between humanity and gods, refusing to falter in my dedication to her safety. 'Pen' labeled wing poised above the page ready to scrawl, I made sure to keep sweet Ahmya in my sight.

Upon seeing the porcelain mask scratched and dark garbs dirty and stretched, the twin was relentless for answers - in his own way, of course.

Three light rasps on wood. Dull ebony eyes lacking expression blinked slowly. "Yam. Is there any reason in particular you've fallen out of routine?"

How can he be so calm? I remember thinking. If I'd suspected sweet Ahmya were disturbed, the disturbance would be eliminated.

The corners of his lips drooped a fraction of a millimeter. L turned the knob and gave the door a nudge without summons.

Lingering in the doorway pooled a long shadow amongst a color breathing light filling the dark space ahead. Unkempt onyx strands bobbed ever so slightly with the minuscule lift of his chin in response to his beginning explanatory nature upon taking in the scene. Sweet Ahmya lay dormant in bed on her right side, lips dragged slightly in a permanent state of weary caution. Where normally blue pjs ended at the elbows and ankles in length, black garb meant for short, direct travel stood out amongst neutral colored bedding.

Tired as she was, bags already began to form beneath normally red ringed lids.

Onyx orbs filling large owlish eyes darted briefly to interruptions in otherwise neat sorting. Cogs churned behind seemingly drab eyes, piecing together whichever subtleties they came to find.

Jean clad legs made a casual stroll inside. A deadpan voice passed pale lips. "I suppose I shouldn't consider this odd. You do tend to experiment with lighting, as I seem to recall?"

Lacking so much as a reaction to his voice prompted an ever subtle narrow of the eyes. Slender hands remained within baggy pockets, remaining still despite movement in the legs. He sought for the cause that'd sent an active routine into ruins, scanning over paints, easels, colors and their tones, and whatever may be out of normal placement outside of the face mask on the desk closest to the door.

"If you're hungry I suggest you see Wammy. He'll understand."

A tiny groan escaped sweet Ahmya, one that was more of a squeak than anything. She curled up further atop neutral colored sheets, chin meeting with scrawny knees. L paused where he overlooked and considered a stack of parchments. "Mmmh… waiting for tomorrow is fine, too. I'm going to move some of these papers. I'll put them back just as I've found them, so don't worry about what is going to happen to their order."

Explaining his actions as he did them so as not to spark anxiety was a common way the brother kept sweet Ahmya collected and in the moment, which remained to this day a trait of his that I was rather fond of. In a way, I found myself furthering my understanding of how sweet Ahmya's mind worked more and more everyday.

Yellowing parchment found itself suspended between two forefingers and thumbs. The tips traveled in constant rhythmic circles, gauging the texture offered. Whatever he may or may not have found, it didn't seem anything of use was discovered, prompting the parchment's neat return atop its proper stack.

"Upside down," sweet Ahmya squeaked. The twin peered back to gauge her alertness, taking in the now raised head staring him down. Specifically, his hovered fingers.

Long slender fingers spun the parchment, correcting its placement. "Yes, of course. How careless of me."

It took a moment for the fact the twin did it on purpose to dawn on me. At first I was irritated, but the reasoning he did so with good intentions squashed the irritation out of bounds as soon as it appeared.

Sweet Ahmya's head dropped and met with bedding, ebony eyes vaguely trailing L's movements. His head swiveled to the chair pulled close beneath the desk. "Do you mind if I sit here with you?"

Ebony orbs refocused on the wall. It was clear the currently lucid twin took note of that, even if only clear to me due to years of fleeting glances in the night. The twins stood - and lay - in silence. One analytical, one weltering away.

Long toes fidgeted atop another foot, slouching shoulders refusing to rise. While blunt and direct to most, sweet Ahmya often received specially worded directions, comments, or questions to accommodate for sensitivity issues and social misunderstandings alike. Meandering, almost - a clear and concise sort, but the word could fit if certain traits about the boy were considered. 'Beating around the bush' was certainly not an intentional thing, and the boy, now a man, had long since adjusted his speaking mannerisms for those he privately cares for as needed enough to keep debate over words short, allowing time taken to think or observe to act in place of silence.

She started to squirm under his gaze, one that was kept carefully just above her form so as not to bring anxiety any further than the discomfort that came with the implication she was being stared at. It took all I had not to swoop down to her side as I did for sweet Ahmya when she was only a small child, one yet to progress into maturity and transform my adoration from awed wonder to eternal infatuation. Were it not for such acts leading to sweet Ahmya's discomfort only out of well meaning intent, and were it not for his potential loss to most certainly prove devastating on sweet Ahmya's woefully short life, I'd consider yet another name for my Death Note to carry within for all time.

The twin's train of thought remained a mystery to me, but sweet Ahmya's spoke droves in roped weavings, weavings of which displayed themselves crystal clear atop vaguely trembling flesh. She concerned deeply with her fears being mentioned, for if they were, the horribly dreadful experience where she worried for her body and life would shift to the forefront of her mind. And yet, worried as she was, the experience would be brought into the spotlight, though she did not blame herself, a force I could only describe as terror lingered in the subconscious.

She could not bear to face it, and yet her fear of having to face it kept the experience fresh and relevant.

Pale lips separated ever slightly, swift but minor in tone, droning over what'd been cooked up in search of answers. A slender thumb pushed these pale lips into a lopsided stretch, eyes and face as stale and blank as always. "Given you neglected even the earliest plot points in your routine, it's safe to assume you haven't so much as moved from your place in bed. You would not do so without good reason, be it excess stimuli or something disrupting your routine, but you showed no signs of stress before leaving during late evening… Tell me, Yam, what happened to make you feel stressed?"

Brows furrowed above red ringed eyes. A forefinger and thumb presented the normally pristine porcelain mask, its left side smeared and right cheek scruffed and heavily scratched. I hadn't even noticed he swiped it up.

Concern edged monotone into something more… careful. "Something scary happened, didn't it?"

Sweet Ahmya seemed to shrink, tugging the sheets over her face. "Y'know it's okay to tell me. I'll only bite if you confess to robbing a bank. In fact, if you could spare a pen and some paper, I think I'll take your confession now."

Deadpan delivery. A joke.

An unacknowledged one. Owlish eyes narrowed the tiniest of fractions, slender thumb pausing in its drags. To an extent, I could understand his bemusement. Were I in his position, unsure of sweet Ahmya's grievances and her forced apathy, I'd personally be 'sweating bullets.'

"Someone tried to hurt you," the twin stated simply.

Sweet Ahmya stiffened.

Dull eyes overlooked a scrawny curled body, gauging whether injuries could be found. There were none.

Fidgeting toes ceased their movements. Long legs bent, a body clad in a white shirt and baggy jeans balancing on the balls of his feet to level the bedding with his chin. Once again, concerned danced around the edges of an otherwise flat voice. "If you could give a description of whoever tried to hurt you, I assure you they'll be put before a jury. No strings attached, no appearances at court, and it all goes away." He eyed a stack of writing paper, sorted by their lines, purposes, and specifically laid pencils. "I can get you a paper if you'd like."

Groans escaped the bedding implanted against a small round face. Ones that protested the action - and even his presence the more she began to associate him with stressful, intruding thoughts. That was his que to leave.

Owlish eyes lingered atop a stiff form whose skin held tremors, a slender thumb dragging lips. This would not be let go.

L rose to a slouched posture, hands seeking out pockets. Pausing at the door and creating a long shadow overcasting the room, he stared ahead, refraining from meeting sweet Ahmya in his gaze. "Yam. I do hope you realize that just because I'm stepping out doesn't mean my questions are over," he muttered simply.

The door shut smoothly with a click.

The twin eventually was forced to lighten his somewhat monotonous questioning when nothing would leave sweet Ahmya's lips. Owlish ebony eyes, though seemingly expressionless, wanted an explanation so as to properly understand their match's well-being. After three weeks of persistence, the Wammy man suggested allowing sweet Ahmya to explain if it was possible for her to do so - whether written or spoken.

All the while, Veilacious gave me the strangest, most baffled stare. The moment Butch Heisenberch met with the pavement, the moment I showed unwavering dedication to sweet Ahmya's safety in all forms, the stare, though intrigued, searched for answers.

I shuddered to think what may happen to such a lovely being, or what might be missed when, amongst my kind, anything could happen to draw attention away. I had to be with her in person. Had to. That incident with the man… it opened my eyes. And I felt terribly slow minded, now.

But when she died, what else was there to do except… wallow?

Sweet Ahmya returned to strictly online meetings with patients. For the first time in nearly two decades, I strayed from sweet Ahmya's portal.

The King was none too pleased when bothered. I begged, pleaded and bargained. Countless trips to the human world for apples I dared not try myself where I'd filled dozens upon dozens of apples into burlap sacks chained to limbs and bone alike.

For my request to be granted or so much as be considered, the bounty was a significant feat to collect.

Veilacious did not help, only observed with intrigued, curious amber slivers in search of what might happen next. She asked what was planned. No answers were given, only commentary on how juicy human apples were to be brought to the King for something important.

So…

Many…

Damn…

Apples…

So…

Many…

Days…

A burlap sack drops below the King's mighty suspended form, sending red fruit scouring through the sand. Scorning orbs pierced drooping wings, shoulders, and limbs alike as needle thin canines ravaged spherical forms.

"I will grant your request," he chuffed.

I perked up.

"However…"

Another handful. The apples were finished off.

The realm seemed to tremble. I shrank and cowered under the King's progressively increasing form towering over all that I am. "Should the human seek to gain profit by selling the Death Note given, I myself will kill both of you through agonizing means."

"And if… the deal… is made?"

Vulnerable, small, on full display. Black pools above an elongated jaw displaying nothing but voidic mist made one feel weak. "Should the deal be made, your lifespan shall also be halved accordingly. Until then, you will live out the remaining decade all the same. Be warned!"

Hisses trailed a raising ethereal voice. "You are not to return once you depart, whenever that may be. To do so after stepping foot in the human world now that you are warned will bring down second degree punishment."

Second degree. Death.

Fitting.

A split skull bowed, mono eye straining to view the King.

Chains rattled and whipped. "Get out of my sight."

I scrambled away, kicking up dust and sand in my rush.

Afterward, I sought out Veilacious. She did not appear surprised by the news given. Twinkling golden slits joined light inquiries. "This is our last meeting."

A question, not a statement. "No."

"You're going to wait until the right moment?"

"Yes."

"I can visit you."

A pause. I couldn't see why not. "Yes."

"You will not be able to return."

"Indeed."

"And you're sure about this trade?"

"More than… ever… before."

"If you feel regret, you won't be able to change things back to how they were."

A simple warning. A split skull bowed in acknowledgement. "I know."

Gold slits melded into amber. "... Why?"

The sheer confusion carried in unfathomable depths caught me off guard. Similar questions such as this had been discussed before regarding sweet Ahmya, but never before had amber slivers stretched such a length and width in a desperate feat to understand. The passion burst through dams of upheld emotion, allowing one tiny, simple word to create a scrawling epitome.

Why?

Empty eye sockets widened a tad as it dawned on her, shifting bone and metal alike. A mono eye oversaw these changes carefully, dull as much as my voice was silent. "You don't know… All this time, you insisted you knew the 'why' and that it was love. But you do not know what makes love, do you?"

Veilacious' soft spoken words lightened in volume enough to challenge feathers. "So why? Why die?"

I myself mulled this over, but that did not mean I reconsidered my destined fate at sweet Ahmya's side.

And I became enlightened.

I flipped through the Death Note until I landed on the last page. The spike at the end of a dark feathered wing pressed carefully to its pages, inking dark letters.

llєฬєгคŦ ย๏א ๔เ๒ เ

אקקคђ ๔єเ๔ เ tคђt ฬ๏ภк ,รє๓๏ς ๔ภє єђt ภєђฬ

ย๏א кภคђt เ ,єรคς єђt รเ tคђt Ŧเ .ย๏א Ŧ๏ ๔єtςєקץє รคฬ tคђฬ ๔l๏Ŧภєt ๔єгєשเlє๔ ๔ภค ,tภє๓ђรเภยק г๏Ŧ tรєยợєг א๓ llเŦlยŦ ๏t ภ๏เtคςเ๔є๔ гย๏א г๏Ŧ t๏ภ tเ єгєฬ tเ ๔єzเlคєг єשคђ t'ภ๔lย๏ฬ เ รקคђгєק

๔єzเlคєг гєשєภ ๔คђ Ŧlєรא๓ เ ﻮภเђtє๓๏ร єг๏lקץє ๏t є๓ รฬ๏llค гєש๏ tเ ﻮภเllย๓ ?ﻮภเtเгฬ tย๒ .tรเץє ๏t รєรคєς єรlє llค ,คא๓ђค tєєฬร ภ๏ tђﻮเร รאคl єאє ๏ภ๏๓ ค ภєђฬ

є๓ ๏t ภﻮเєг๏Ŧ єςภเร ﻮภ๏l รђtยгt ฬєภ אภค๓ ๔єภгคєl єשคђ llเฬ เ tรคєl tค ภєђt - ђtคє๔ Ŧ๏ ๔๏ﻮ ค єภ๏lค tєl ,ภค๓๏ฬ г๏ ภค๓ ค гє๔เรภ๏ς รค ђςย๓ ๏ร ๔lย๏ฬ єђร รt๒ย๏๔ א๓ єשคђ เ ђﻮย๏ђt - є๓ รєש๏l ,รקคђгєק ,г๏ รtקєςςค єђร єг๏Ŧє๒ єเ๔ єђร ๔lย๏ђร .๏ร ๏๔ ๏t гє๔г๏ ภเ є๓ єﻮ๔єlฬ๏ภкςค ภєשє ๏t ๔єєภ t๏ภ รє๏๔ єђร .אคฬ єђt є๓ ฬ๏ђร llเฬ คא๓ђค tєєฬร

єг๏๓ ﻮภเђt๏ภ ฬ๏ภк єฬ tย๒.єςคŦгยร єђt ภ๏ tเ єєร ภคς єฬ .รtรเﻮ єђt ฬ๏ภк єฬ

?אtเlคยợ єภเtรเгק รเ tคђฬ ๔ภค tรยг รเ tคђฬ ,๔ค๒ รเ tคђฬ ๔ภค ๔๏๏ﻮ รเ tคђฬ ฬ๏ภк ๏t єгคק๓๏ς ๏t ภเ๏ς ค Ŧ๏ รє๔เร ђt๏๒ єשคђ t๏ภ ๏๔ єฬ Ŧเ รtภคгﻮ ﻮภเשเl ђtยгt єђt ๔ภเŦ ๏t ๔єร๏קקยร єฬ єгค єรlє ฬ๏ђ г๏Ŧ ,๔єєгﻮ Ŧ๏ єtเร๏קק๏ єђt ๔ภเŦ ภคς єฬ ,รรєภђรเŦlєร ภเ tย๒.tเ єยﻮгค t๏ภ llเฬ เ .єยгt รเ รเђt .єгค єฬ รค tรยן ,ђรเŦlєร אltภєгєђภเ รเ єгยtคภ ภค๓ยђ ฬ๏ђ єยﻮгค אค๓ ย๏א

єгยtคภ ภค๓ยђ гє๔เรภ๏ς ๏t ย๏א єг๏lק๓เ เ ,ภ๏เภคק๓๏ς ๏t ภ๏เภคק๓๏ς ,ร๔ภєเгŦ t๏ภ Ŧเ ,г๏ ๔ภєเгŦ ๏t ๔ภєเгŦ ,ย๏א ๏t є๓ ๓๏гŦ ,tгคєђ א๓ Ŧ๏ ๓๏tt๏๒ єђt ๓๏гŦ tย๒ .єש๏l אlภ๏ ๔ภค tรгเŦ א๓ รเ คא๓ђค tєєฬร г๏Ŧ ,รภ๏ς ๔ภค ร๏гק єђt ภ๏ ย๏א єtคςย๔є ๏t єภ๏ t๏ภ ๓ค เ .เ๓คﻮเภเђร ภเ รรєภtєєฬร гย๏א ๔ภเŦ אค๓ ย๏א

אtเlเ๒ค гย๏ Ŧ๏ tรє๒ tร๏๓tย єђt ๏t ภєשเﻮ єгค єฬ tคђฬ єzเlเtย tรย๓ єฬ :єยгt รคฬ אlรย๏เשєгק ๔เคร เ tคђฬ єzเlคєг ๏t є๓๏ς เ єг๏๓ єђt ,єtเгฬ เ รค .єг๏๓ ﻮภเђt๏ภ ,tรเץє ย๏א .t๏ภ ๏๔ ,๔ภєเгŦ א๓ ,ย๏א

єשเl เ

รєςภคlﻮ lยŦtรเฬ ภเ єשเl เ .אรคtรςє ภเ єשเl เ

ﻮภเк๏๏l קєєк

…гย๏ร รภгยt tєєฬร รเ tคђฬ Ŧเ г๏ …t๏ภ ๏๔ ย๏א Ŧเ

!ฬєภ ๔ภค tคєгﻮ ﻮภเђtє๓๏ร ๔ภเŦ llเฬ ย๏א !tเ єยรгยק ,кςเร ย๏א єкค๓ ๏t ђﻮย๏ภє รเ รรєภtєєฬร єђt Ŧเ ภєשє ?є๒ єгєђt ภคς єгยรคєгt гєtคєгﻮ tคђฬ ,t๏г Ŧ๏ ๔lг๏ฬ ค tร๔เ๓ค .tєєฬร є๒ ๏t ฬ๏ภк ll'ย๏א єภ๏є๓๏ร ๔ภเŦ llเฬ ,๏๏t ,ย๏א รקคђгєק.คא๓ђค

tєєฬร є๔เรﻮภ๏lค รאค๔ א๓ ๔ภєקร ๏t ภєשเг๔ ๓ค เ ภเคﻮค єςภ๏ ภєђt ,รкςค๒ฬคг๔ єlเtยŦ รเ єςภєtรเץє Ŧเ .'єςภєtรเץє' รค єŦเl ๏t гєŦєг เ ,รгย๏ђ א๓ llค ภเ ,๔єςเt๏ภ єש'เ .ﻮภเשเl t'ภรเ รเђt

єŦเl кєєร.קเђรภ๏เภคק๓๏ς кєєร

ร๔ภє ﻮภเภภเקร ђtเฬ รкςเtร г๏ รรคlﻮ א๔ภคร รค ђςยร ,tŦคгς ภเ є๓๏รєฬค ﻮภเђtє๓๏ร кєєร

єאє гย๏א tђﻮยคς ร'tคђt ﻮภเђtє๓๏ร кєєร

.๏๔

...รเ ย๏א ๏t єςเש๔ค א๓ ,๏ร .t๏ภ ๏๔ ๔ภค ๏๔ אlภ๏ รเ єгєђt .אгt ๏ภ รเ єгєђt .๔ภคtรгє๔ภย ๏t אгt t๏ภ ๏๔

Ŧlєรгย๏א …єςภєเгєקץє …รเђt ﻮภเฬ๏ภк tย๏ђtเฬ єรק๓เlﻮ ค єשเєςєг รค ђςย๓ ๏ร гєשєภ llเฬ ย๏א ﻮภเฬ๏ภк єlเђฬ llค ,ภ๏קย tђﻮเl ๔єђร รคђ єש๏l tคђฬ ภเคlקץє ๏t tק๓єttค ภค ภเ tย๏๒ค єl๒๓ยŦ เ รค ภєשє ๔ภคtรгє๔ภย ๔ภค אгt ๏t ย๏א ђςєєรє๒ เ .є๓ єשเﻮг๏Ŧ

…tєא ๔ภค ,є๓ tค ๔єк๏๏l รค ђςย๓ ๏ร гєשєภ єђร

คא๓ђค tєєฬร ๏t รкภคђt єl๒เรร๏ק llค รเ tเ

รรєlєђtєภ๏ภ єгєђ tย๒ ,ﻮภเђt кςยгtรєש๏l ,ﻮภเгє๔ภยl๒ ค รค .๓ค เ єгєђ tєא ๔ภค

๔ภєђєгק๓๏ς ๏t tђﻮย๏ђt гєשєภ ๔'เ รﻮภเђt ๏t єאє ๏ภ๏๓ א๓ ๔єภєק๏ รคђ คא๓ђค tєєฬร .๔ภเ๓ ๔ภค א๔๏๒ ภเ เ ๔ภค ,tเгเקร ภเ ย๏א .гєђtєﻮ๏t ๓lคєг รเђt ๓๏гŦ tгคקє๔ รย tєl

?๔єєгﻮ єђt ,אєгﻮ єђt ,๒คг๔ єђt єг๏ภﻮเ ?tรєllยŦ єђt ๏t єשเl ๔ภค ภเ llยŦ ๏ﻮ t๏ภ אђฬ ,єﻮlย๔ภเ ๏t єשเг๔ ค г๏ гคєŦ Ŧ๏ tย๏ אlєl๏ร ﻮภเtรเץє ,אקקคђภย єгค єฬ Ŧเ ,๏ร

รєשlєรгย๏ г๏Ŧ รรєภtเฬ ๏t tєﻮ гєשєภ אค๓ เ ๔ภค ย๏א tคђt ร๏เгคภєςร ๔ภค ,รєгยรคєlק ,รєl๒ย๏гt єl๒คкภเђtภย Ŧ๏ ๔คเгא๓ ค єςภєเгєקץє รє๓คlŦ ﻮภเא๔ єรєђt ,รєђςєєl Ŧ๏ ร๔๏ﻮ єђt ,รย ๏t tรคгtภ๏ς ภเ

єשเгђt אєђt ๔ภค

гєtŦค є๓๏ς tђﻮเ๓ tคђฬ tקєςςค ๔ภค єﻮlย๔ภเ ๏t tย๒ єςเ๏ђς ๏ภ єשคђ אєђt ?รภค๓ยђ .ﻮภเtเคฬ ภเ אคl ๔ภค tเ אคlє๔ єฬ .ђtคє๔ Ŧ๏ кς๏lς รเђt tєรєг t๏ภ ๏๔ єฬ .ђtคє๔ ๏t гєร๏lς ๓єђt ﻮภเﻮภเг๒ ๔ภ๏ςєร אгєשє ,รאคฬ אภค๓ ภเ є๓เt єђt รรคק ђtคє๔ Ŧ๏ ร๔๏ﻮ.ฬ๏ภк t๏ภ llเฬ єฬ ,๏t tภคฬ єฬ אlєtคгєקรє๔ ฬ๏ђ гєttค๓ ๏ภ ,אคฬค รย รкรเђฬ ๔ภค รє๓๏ς ๔ภє єђt ภєђฬ .รlย๏ร ๔єl๒คŦ гย๏ Ŧ๏ кг๏ฬ єђt รเ รเђt รקคђгєק .๔๏ﻮ lєยгς ค Ŧ๏ кг๏ฬ єђt รเ รเђt รקคђгєק

єש๏l єฬ ,llเtร ๔ภค ,รtςภเtรภเ єรєђt єשคђ t๏ภ ๏๔ єฬ .ร๏๓ร๏ς รรєl๔ภє tรﻮภ๏๓ค ﻮภเtค๏lŦ кς๏г ๔єгєאคl гєtคฬ ๔ภค รรคгﻮ ค ภ๏ รlค๓เภค гєђt๏ llค єкเl tςภเtรภเ є๒ אlק๓เร tђﻮเ๓ รฬєเש ๔ภค ,รภ๏เtςคєг ,รภ๏เt๏๓є гย๏ єгєђฬ ,єгค รєเ๔๏๒ ภค๓ยђ ฬ๏ђ ๔є๓г๏Ŧ t๏ภ єгค รєเ๔๏๒ гย๏ .รเђt є๓๏ςгєש๏ ๏t є๓ รฬ๏llค єש๏l …гคєŦ รเђt ,llเtร

๔เ๏ש гคєŦ เ

llєђ г๏Ŧ єгคς t๏ภ ๏๔ เ .ภєשคєђ г๏Ŧ єгคς t๏ภ ๏๔ เ

๔є๓คєг๔ гєשєภ єש'เ รєςภєเгєקץє ฬєภ ๔ภค ,ภเคק ๔ภค ,ђtคє๔ Ŧ๏ ๔єгคςร .єtคђ Ŧ๏ ๔єгคςร ,ภ๏เtςєןєг Ŧ๏ ๔єгคςร .๔єгคςร ๓ค เ .tเ tเ๓๔ค เ ,אคร เ llค єtเקรє๔ .ﻮภเђt єlкςเŦ ค รเ ,๔ภєเгŦ א๓ ,гคєŦ

?єгเŦ ภเ ђtгคє єђt รєเŦเςคק ภยร єђt ภєђฬ єкคtгคק ๏t ๔є๓๏๏๔ єгค єฬ รค אtเภгєtє ภเ ๔๏๏l๒ ๔ภค ,รгєש๏l ,ร๔ภєเгŦ гย๏ ภเ๏ן ๏t ?รเ tคђt llค ђtเฬ єภ๏ є๓๏ςє๒ ๔lย๏ς єฬ ภєђฬ ๏ร ๏๔ אђฬ tย๒ ,гєשєг๏Ŧ єשเl אค๓ єฬ

єl๒คtเשєภเ รเ tเ єรยคςє๒ ђtคє๔ єtเשภเ เ

รย๏เгยς ๓ค เ єรยคςє๒ אlק๓เร ร๓гค ภєק๏ ђtเฬ ђtคє๔ єtเשภเ t๏ภ ๏๔ เ :รเђt ฬ๏ภк tย๒ .๏ร ๏๔ ๏t єยภเtภ๏ς ,รгย๏א г๏Ŧ ๔ภค ,єкคร א๓ г๏Ŧ .๏๏t ,๏๔ ย๏א .รเђt гє๔ภ๏ק เ ...?єเ๔ เ ภєђฬ є๒ เ llเฬ tคђฬ

гєtรย๓ ภคς єฬ tรє๒ tร๏๓tย єђt ђtเฬ ภєשเﻮ єгค єฬ tคђฬ єzเlเtย tรย๓ єฬ .๓คєlﻮ ค ,ςєקร ค tย๒ єгค єฬ tย๒ .รย ภ๏קย รtยק єђ tคђฬ г๏Ŧ ๔єรเקรє๔ є๒ ๔lย๏ђร รгย๏ Ŧ๏ ๔๏ﻮ รเђt .รא๏ן гєtรเภเร Ŧ๏ гєtรค๓tєקקยק ,lเєש เlคﻮภєשร ,tђﻮเг є๒ אค๓ ย๏א

?ﻮภเє๒ ๏tภเ รย รєкค๓ tคђฬ ๔ภค єŦเl tย๏๒ค אคร tคђt รє๏๔ tคђฬ ,ђtคє๔ ๏tภเ єשเﻮ รยђt ๔ภค ,єש๏l ภคς เ รค є๓คร єђt єгยtคєгς ค Ŧเ .รєเгค๔ภย๏๒ llค รєรรคקгยร ,รllєt ๔ภєﻮєl ภค๓ยђ รค ,єש๏l

єкคt ภคђt гєђtคг єשเєςєг ๏t - ฬєภ ﻮภเђtє๓๏ร єςภєเгєקץє ๏t є๓ ฬ๏llค llเฬ єςเ๏ђς אгєשє .єשเﻮ ,єςภєtรเץє א๓ ภเ є๓เt tรгเŦ єђt г๏Ŧ ,tรย๓ เ

ђรเŦlєร є๒ t๏ภ tรย๓ เ ,ﻮภเђt אlєש๏l รเђt ђtเฬ є๒ ๏t .א๔єєгﻮ ภคђt гєђt๏ ﻮภเђtє๓๏ร є๒ ๏t є๓ รєςг๏Ŧ ๔ภค ﻮภเє๒ א๓ ภเ єŦเl ฬєภ รкгคקร tคђt ﻮภเђtє๓๏ร .אlєש๏l ﻮภเђtє๓๏ร ๔ภย๏Ŧ єש'เ ,ฬ๏lє๒ ภฬ๏๔ tย๒

เ ๓ค гєђtเєภ ๔ภค .ﻮภเђt๏ภ єгค אєђt

гєtςคгคђς Ŧ๏ llยŦ รєשlєร๓єђt кภเђt אєђt .รєภ๏г๔ รรєl๓เค єкเl รєשlєร๓єђt tรﻮภ๏๓ค lเ๏t ภєгђtєг๒ гย๏ ,๔ภย๏гค llค .єשเﻮ гєשєภ єฬ tย๒ ,єкคt єฬ ๔ภค єкคt єฬ ๔ภค єкคt єฬ .єŦเl Ŧ๏ ๔єєгﻮ єђt - ๔єєгﻮ гє๔ภย єtคς๏ŦŦยร єק๏ђ Ŧ๏ รгє๓๓เlﻮ .tгєรє๔ ,кς๏г ,tรยг ,єภ๏๒ ,๔ภคร ;є๓๏ђ гย๏ ๔l๏ђє๒.เ ๔ภค ย๏א ,ﻮภเtt๏г єгค ๏๏t єฬ

ร๓เђฬ гย๏ tค єเ๔ ,รภค๓ยђ ,אєђt єรยคςє๒ єשเl єฬ .єשเl єฬ єรยคςє๒ єเ๔ єฬ

ђtคє๔ гคєŦ єฬ єรยคςє๒ єשเl єฬ

ภєtt๏г єtรคt t'ภรє๏๔ אlภเคtгєς tร๏๓ tเ ๔ภค .t๏г Ŧ๏ єг๏ς ค tร๔เ๓ค אlєש๏l รเ tคђฬ ๔ภย๏Ŧ єש'เ ,ђtยгt єlק๓เร รเђt єtเקรє๔ ,llเtร ๔ภค

๔єเŦเtภє๔เ є๒ אlєש๏l รเ tคђฬ ภคς гєﻮภ๏l ๏ภ tคђt t๏г ђςย๓ ๏ร ภเ אlєש๏l รเ tคђฬ ﻮภเtคς๏ŦŦยร ,๔๏๏ﻮ รเ tคђฬ รק๏lєשภє tคђt ๔ค๒ єђt є๓ยรภ๏ς ๔ภค รє๔เгק гย๏ ภ๏ єк๏ђς ,รєﻮ๔є єђt ๔ภย๏гค єtเ๒ tรย๓ єฬ ,єﻮlย๔ภเ ๏t .tเยгŦ ๔เςภคг รย ภєשเﻮ รคђ єђ .tรย๓ เ ภคђt гєﻮภ๏l אภค ๓เђ ภเคtгєtภє ๏t tภคฬ t๏ภ ๏๔ เ ภєђt - є๓ ,ภєђt ๔ภค - ย๏א א๒ ๔єгє๔ภ๏ק รคฬ єςภ๏ รค ,єשคђ אค๓ єฬ ๔єє๔ภเ ๔๏ﻮ lєยгς ค Ŧเ

?єยlคש ร๔l๏ђ tคђt ﻮภเђtאภค єєร ย๏א ๏๔ :๔ภย๏гค к๏๏l .รtєгςєร รtเ ฬ๏ภк เ tย๒ ,๔lг๏ฬ єђt єєร ย๏א .เ ๔ภค ย๏א ,tภєгєŦŦเ๔ єг'єฬ

єгเรє๔ Ŧ๏ єςคlק ภเ єςภคยภ ђรเ๔lเђς є๒ ๏t ๔єгє๔เรภ๏ς tเ llค ๔єภ๏๔ภค๒ค ๏ﻮค ﻮภ๏l єђςאรק єђt г๏Ŧ ,є๓คร єђt llค єгค รк๏๏ltย๏ ๔ภค ,รﻮภเlєєŦ ,รtђﻮย๏ђt єђt Ŧเ гєttค๓ t๏ภ รє๏๔ tเ .รєשlєร гє๓г๏Ŧ гเєђt Ŧ๏ รtร๏ђﻮ є๓๏ςє๒ llเฬ ร๔ภเ๓ ๔ภค รєเ๔๏๒ гย๏

ђรเภคש llเฬ єฬ ,t๏ภ รє๏๔ єภ๏ Ŧเ .єгเรє๔ tรย๓ єภ๏ ,єשเl ๏t .кlคฬ ๏t єгเรє๔ ,ร๔ย๏lς єђt кภเг๔ ๏t єгเรє๔ ,єtรคt ๏t єгเรє๔ ,єשเl ๏t єгเรє๔ .єгเรє๔ א๒ ๔єtคtςเ๔ รเ єשคђ єฬ llค

Widened amber streaks shrank slowly in on themselves. Bone and rusty metal fell into place, renewing the normal shape of empty eye sockets. Slivers flickered between Shinigami and Death Note, wistful and yearning for understanding. "But… you can learn without giving your life."

She did not need to pretend to express sorrow, though it was quite obvious she'd miss her faithful companion of 20 something years regardless. Still, I shook my head. "At least… I'd be… giving."

"You do not truly consider this to be true. It's another fantasy you've made to justify wasting away alongside a human."

"Perhaps," I chirped simply. The mono eye held nothing but content serenity. "Still will."

Amber slivers flickered.

Hours felt like days. Days felt like months. Months felt like years. Years felt like decades. And still, I couldn't find the right moment. Time was running out.

9 years.

8 years.

7 years….

So long I waited, neglecting Veilacious more and more as time went on. She did not seem to mind. Sweet Ahmya's career began a steady decline, whereas the twin had nothing but further success as the world's greatest detective. In time, her career came to a halt, and the world no longer knew the company and flawless diagnosis of the mysterious "Yahe." It wasn't that she was becoming disliked or inadequate. Rather…

Trauma from the almost irreversible incident. Stress that I didn't want around when the time came to show myself, but may have to face if I am to spend time with sweet Ahmya.

Veilacious interrupted month long silence with the nudge of a swollen, blobby ankle. "Hey, you. I thought you wanted to die in the human world. Why do you stay?"

"Waiting," I croaked. The mono eye focused on the adjacent Shinigami. "Right time. Don't want… to screw… things up."

"I heard another Shinigami dropped his Death Note a few weeks ago. Perhaps now is the right time."

The mono eye and all limbs froze.

If someone had a Death Note, traded for the Shinigami eyes, saw her face and decided to kill her, however unlikely a scenario…

"Seeing her now would eliminate that possibility."

She read me like a book. Or perhaps, the mono eye showed all there was to tell. When the stillness persisted, vague lips pursed, snapping oozing, half dried seaweed strips in half. "... You do wish to ensure your sweet's safety, right?"

Hooves lept, forcing my body tall and upright.

A grin replaced pursed bony rusted lips. Veilacious chuckled, the fire behind those malicious amber slits returning. "That's what I like about you. You're persistent."

"And you're… quite the… Bastard."

She barked a laugh. Its energy died quickly, reluctant to chance an early farewell. Amber slits briefly peered into the human world. "You should write that. Give me something to remember you by."

"Only… if you... do the… same."

I received her stick with the spinning ends.

I chose to decorate the shaft.

lєђ รเ๒ยภค เlคк

๔гคtรค๒ єђt єtเยợ єг'ย๏א ๔ภค

Veilacious received a Death Note. Jagged fingers uncapped a pen, flicking to the second to last page. "Full names, huh? Funny… I can't picture it any differently."

ᖶᓎ૨ꂑｱ,ꂑʋꁹꂑ ยᖶא,ᓎ, ቿא

ᓎꂑթኗꈤꁹነʋ ꂑᓎꁹነ

Farewell gifts received and portal to the human world mere inches away, a pair of huge, navy black wings sprouted from bone, creating a quad.

"By the way…"

The mono eye tore itself away from the portal. Veilacious remained silent for a moment, retrieving the spinning stick. "It's called a windmill."

I stared blankly. She shrugged and crossed her legs, a metallic claw flicking the windmill into action.

Quad wings outstretched.

With one step forward departing me for the last time with my birthplace and home for many millennia, I met with the human world.