Jack Frost was clearly lonely. Death watched from afar as the spirit skated on his pond. It was strange, and oddly poetic to find Frost here more than any other place. The frozen pond, it hadn't thawed in over 300 years, even in the midst of summer. But the adults kept their children from playing on it any other time beside in the dead of winter. There was an old tale of a child who had fallen in and drowned, all in Burgess kept away from the pond unless it was below freeing for a week straight.
This was Jack's home, or the closest thing to it. The winter spirit was a wanderer, and went wherever the wind happened to take him. But, he had no believers. None. It was something that Death found themselves clinging to Frost more often. They were kindred spirits, or at least, they wanted to imagine Jack had some sort of connection to the god. That perhaps Death could be just as happy as the white haired boy.
Raising the scope higher, Death focused on the skater, aiming to get the perfect shot. And with a small click, the moment was captured, never to be forgotten. The Spirit had quickly grown fond of the human device, something called a camera. Taking a moment, Death took the photo in hand, shaking it until it fully revealed the image.
It was beautiful. The frozen look of happiness and carefree. Snow was glinting in the sunlight, the evergreen trees behind Jack were coated in a soft blanket, creating the perfect illusion of a winter wonderland. No wonder Jack favored this place.
A sudden coolness spread in the Spirit's stomach, who frowned and looked down. A sad sigh left their lips, and stood calmly. With one last glance at Jack Frost, Death called on his power, and quickly found himself in a human house.
The humans seemed to be trapped in a single moment. Instead, it was Death. It was the end of the human week, the time that was set aside for bringing spirits to the next step. Traveling so fast, it happened in a single moment.
Lying in a bed, an old woman was looking around her, slightly confused, until her gaze fell onto the darkly dressed Spirit. She already was looking healthier, much healthier than she had been for the past few years, and she was in a lot less pain as well.
"Mrs. Lopez. Would you please take my hand?" There didn't seem to be any resignation in her eyes, only a small amount of sadness. But under that? Acceptance. Death held out their hand, smiling calmly and reassuringly to the old woman. It was her time. It was eventual deaths like these that passed quicker. Where nothing could have been done to avoid it. But, like Jackson and his sister, well...
She slowly reached out, surprised at her own strength, and her warm hand met Death's cool palm. With a brave face, she sat up and for the first time in months, stood on her own.
"Thank you young man." Mrs. Lopez whispered, tears in her eyes. Silently, Death nodded, gesturing to the portal he had opened. A bright, yellow light awaited the woman, and she turned to the Spirit, question in her eyes.
"Will I see my husband?" Instead of answering, Death pulled on the long since passed on soul of Mr. Lopez, and he appeared in the light, waving slightly.
"Oh, thank you miss. I knew you would bring my wife to me." Rodger Lopez looked to be nearly in tears as his wife approached him, and as they hugged, the light disappeared into a million sparkles.
A happy ending, the reunions were always better than separating souls. Especially those that had a special bond like these two. But, going over what the couple had said, Death looked down at their own body, pulling at the cloak.
Female or male? With a shrug, Death focused on the next soul, one of thousands that they would cater to. It was their job after all, their passion. Seeing happy faces were better than the sad. While gender certainly didn't matter, or at least it didn't matter to the Spirit, all the humans seemed to be oddly concerned on the fact.
**ROTG**
Biting into the newly stolen stash of chocolate, Death kicked their feet while watching the ground below. Frowning, they didn't like what they were seeing. Pitch Black, the subject of many fears and worries in the human realm.
The cloaked Spirit knew it was necessary to be afraid sometimes, but, they couldn't help but feel awful for the severity Pitch caused. Humans had even given him a name, the Boogeyman. And in severe cases of fear, children matured too quickly and stopped believing.
The creation of Pitch had been difficult, and clearly it hadn't been perfect either. He was simply too hungry for attention. Like now, Death didn't like what the dark spirit was doing.
Trapped in a glass jar, was a specimen of Sandman's sand. Shaking it all about, growling at the sand, shouting. And slowly, a dark tint took to the dream. A startled crack, and a half formed dark dream had been formed.
Taking a moment to bite into another chocolate marvel, the hope was savored and memorized. It was just so good, although the chocolates of 1943 were better than these. Then, once again turned to see Pitch.
Laughing maniacally, he chased the slowly forming sand, as it slowly took the form of a horse, and before long, Pitch was riding the thing.
"At least a Nightmare." Voice deadly serious, Pitch seemed incredibly proud of his accomplishment. But, Death tried to understand.
"That is what the humans call a pun, right? Cause horse... mare? And why Sandy's sand?" Pitch didn't answer, of course not. So, Death lifted the camera, and snapped a photo. "Are you seeing this Manny?"