Disclaimer: Same as always, you guys know the drill.
Crappery: Had to post something before it was shut down for two days...
SuperHiperChit: Who do you think Eve is? What biblical name is that? Use your brain woman!
Lorett: If the previous got you misty eyed, this one definitely will too.
Silly Bandit: Oh I'm glad!
Arya Raven: Thank you! Except every sad beginning has an even more tragic end.
Mojo the Rock Chick Munchkin: Stories are FUN!
Drifting-Ashes: Yeah, in my eyes Death is extremely misunderstood. She really does love everyone, although her love is different than the Creator's. Hers is more sad, like if someone close to you knew when and how you were going to die before it happened.
Alcapacien: Names aren't important in the story...
Thanks for the reviews you guys! Blessed Be!
The Grape Vine
Chapter the Third
With an emotionless mask in place, I trudged up to the enormous front doors of Hogwarts, my stained dress still
adorning my figure. I was exhausted and wished for nothing more than a long bath. I slipped into the dark hallways and silently
flitted towards the rooms I had been given. Supposedly they were reserved for prominent guests and Albus had chuckled to
himself that no visitor was as renowned as me. But then again, everyone knows about Death. It is apart of everything's life,
except for mine. I am forced to remain present, forced to bear the tests of time because I am the only one fit for such a job. I
was created for the sole purpose of loving the dying and releasing them from their lives. I shivered and wrapped my arms
around myself, trying to keep a little shred of warmth about my body. There had never been a time that I had not felt a great
burden weighting down my shoulders. The only occasion that I can ever remember that I was free of any responsibility was
when the Creator held me. I had not experienced anything beyond love and did not know that there was anything beyond Her tender
embraces. A snort came from me. How naïve and childlike I had been. Upon taking my first life the initial part of my soul
disintegrated into a pile of wet ash, impossible to ever bring it back. I stopped in front of a portrait, a dry peal of laughter
echoing in the cold passage. A very masculine looking Death stood proudly in the frame, his cloak billowing behind him like a
possessed cloud. My arms crossed over my chest as I looked at the heavily gilded and overly ornate scythe in his hand.
"Who the hell had the audacity to paint me like that?" I wondered aloud.
"How dare you speak to Death in such a way feeble mortal! Cower before the eternal undertaker!" The portrait boomed.
I gave a little start and narrowed my eyes at it, letting my sight change just enough so I could see the spells sparkling in the
canvas. A nasty smirk tugged at the corners of my mouth as I calmly lifted my hand.
"I believe it is you who should be cowering."
He sniffed. "Cringe because of a human? What kind of dark entity does thine take me for?"
Without a second thought I snapped my fingers, removing the charms that allowed the lower half of the picture to move. With
everything from hips downward frozen, the painted man grew suddenly afraid.
"Thou are clearly more powerful than that this humble creation! Prithee, I beseech thee, do not harm me!"
I simply sighed, but kept my hand where it was. "I will only tell you this once. You are not Death; you are a cruel mockery of what
Death truly is. The Creator is female and She made Death, Her counterpart, in Her image."
Even in his semi-stationary state, he still had the sudden audacity to speak.
"God? A woman? Females are better for nothing more than birthing and whoring, once one is passed their prime, the world has
no need of them."
Antagonism stiffened my spine as I ground my teeth together. "Curb thy tongue." I hissed, unconsciously lapping into his form
of speech. "Thou knows not of what thou speakeths of."
He sneered. "I am a man, that guarantees I know more than thou."
"Is that so?" I smirked. "Sadly for thine, thou is naught more than a picture."
"I will spring forth from these confines to prove that mine is the stronger of the sexes."
"Go right ahead, I would perish if such a sight was denied me."
He stood there for a moment, trying momentarily to jerk free and then simply looked at me like I was a smear of crap on the heel
of his shoe.
"I am unable to."
"I thought as much. Thou art the portrait to mine rooms and thou wilt open when I command thou to. Understand?"
"Yes ma'am." He said demurely.
"Excellent. Now open."
It swung open and I quietly stepped in, completely oblivious to the three pairs of eyes that had watched my confrontation with
the obstinate paint man.
The room within was simple and I sighed faintly, my eyes slowly taking in my surroundings, simple colorless walls with
curtains that were just a little darker and that completed the colour scheme of my room. Without thinking I waved my hand,
causing a wave of deep tones of purple, green, and black to cover the light. I walked quietly through the plain living room, past my
bed in the next room, and into the surprisingly large bathroom. A slight smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I ran a hand
through my slightly stiff hair. It looked like something the Creator would have created just to make me shudder. Masses of
fluffy white cloud things, they might have been towels, pink sandstone and a sunken in tub in the shape of a heart. I pictured
clearly in my mind's eye what I wanted and with another simple flick of my fingers, my setting changed. I let out a sigh as I felt
smooth, cold black marble beneath my feet and trudged towards to bathtub which had lost its previous shape. I sat on the lip of it
and looked at the bath salts resting eagerly on a small silver table next to the tub. It was a mass of light scents like spun sugar
and vanilla. A snort echoed and within seconds it was all replaced by a variety of things all smelling the same, night jasmine.
Yes, I will admit that it is a flowery smell, but there's something deep and heady about it that is far more fitting to my persona
than anything that had been supplied. I turned the hot water faucet on and then slipped the dress off. There were patches of
drying blood across my stomach, shoulder, and knees and I absently ran one of my fingers through the pool. I had never been
afraid of blood. I had never been able to comprehend why some mortals fainted at the sight of the heavy liquid. It contrasted
wonderfully with most things, staining whatever it touched, always leaving a trace of its self behind. Blood was never forgotten,
it was a constant, just like me. Once, a long, long time ago I had cried after I had released somebody. I the pain I had felt when I
realized that I would never have the opportunity to be freed in that final, ultimate way struck me hard. I could never leave. That in
itself had been so shocking I had refused to acknowledge any of the pulls, believing that if Death refused kill, then death would
become superfluous and I would fade away like I had seen so many do. To say the least, that did not go over well with the
Creator. I remember distinctly how She had actually screamed at me for not doing what She told me I had to do. It was in the
moment I lost what remaining love I had for Her. She knew exactly what I was going to have to do for the rest of eternity; She
knew that it would cause me far more pain to have to take the lives of the innocent, all because She made me that way. I realized
that no being that would create something to house all the pain and suffering of the world and then add the ability the feel all of
this, was truly not a loving deity. She doomed me to all of time being completely alone, unloved, and pining for the very thing I
dealt out. The sound of water hitting water brought me back to the present and I blinked slowly, clearing away shadows of
loathing and suppressed pain. I turned back to the tub and added liberal amounts of the softly smelling salts, before turning the
faucet off and slipping in.
I looked dubiously at the bed I had been given, silently wondering why I needed it. Sleep was not a necessity for me; I rarely
succumbed to the foggy land of dreams. The Dream Lord did not like me very much. He has been called much since he was created
and my favourite to taunt him with is the Sandman. I can remember many occasions where I have been kicked out of sleep
simply for mocking my brother. All the ones the Creator made to help Her keep control of the world are siblings. None of us look
alike, with the exception of the three Fates, but it goes unsaid between us that we are family. That has always made me snort,
never has any member of my so called 'family' ever offer me an ounce of comfort or sympathy, even when I am there to hold
them when they need it. Is it because I am the emotional dumping bag of the group? That is something I have never been able to
answer. Throwing another dubious look at the bed, I left the room. My living space was made up of two plush armchairs, a small
table, and a fireplace. Not the sumptuous expanse one would expect as Hogwarts' best, but it's not like I actually believed the
barmy old codger. I dropped into one of the chairs and lit the fire place with a single glance. Warmth over took me and I let my
mind drift, basking in one of the rare moments I was not being called somewhere. Of course, the moment that thought passed my
mind my heart nearly exploded from the strength of the convulsion. I let out a curse and simply disappeared, not bothering to
change out of the simple jeans and close fitting t-shirt I had thrown on as I got out of the bath.
The first thing that reached my nose when the darkness cleared was the horrendous stink of human waste mixed ever so
tantalizingly with the sickly sweet reek of decaying flesh. Even though I was Death, my stomach heaved and I pressed a hand
against my mouth in an attempt to still my rolling stomach. Somebody was actually dying in this putrefying pit of stench. I
quickly looked around, the good in me not wishing to make the human wait any longer before passing on, and I let out a soft cry
as I saw what I had come for. Lying amongst the trash, offal, and half decomposed animal corpses was the pallid body of a
newborn. I ran, to hell with walking, towards the small form. I was by the child's side within seconds and without a care to the
smell, scooped it up. Its little body was covered in sores and the tips of its tiny fingers and toes appeared to have been gnawed
on by some sort of rodent. It was completely naked and I fought back tears as I held the infant to my chest. No child deserved to
be abandoned in a hell like this. Not even if they were begotten in rape or any other horror. This little boy had been doomed from
the moment he had been conceived and I was left to pick up what was remained of him. He let out a wordless wail as he turned
terrified hues up to me, pools of murky brown glistening with tears. I touched his forehead, brushing some of his dirty hair
away.
"I love you." I whispered, putting emphasis on each word.
While he did not understand the exact words I said, he got the feeling I put into them. He had never been loved, he had been
abandoned at birth and all he knew was pain. I came to claim him and showed him love, putting his soul to peace. His little spirit
disappeared from my caring embrace and I swallowed thickly, forcing tears back. My eyes momentarily landed on his broken
body, the husk that once held his precious essence, before returning to my chair in front of the fire, alone.
This is sad...But it all sadness has a purpose, I promise...Read and review!
Your Lord and Master;
Foamy the Squirrel