Soul
The shrill cry of a new born infant filled the air, along with the broken sobs of a man, and the dying breaths of his wife. The nurse stood aside, cradling the child in her arms and doing her best to sooth the small babe. The sheets of the bed had been stained with blood and various other fluids, but that didn't stop the man from staying there still, holding tight to his love, whom slipped farther and farther from him with every moment that passed.
"P-Please..Please..Don't take her."
The nurse thought him mad; who was he speaking to? Not her, nor his dying wife, but whom? Perhaps it was the great beyond, or their God to whom he pleaded?
Or, perhaps, the cloaked figure whom stood tall at the edge of the bed.
He did make a sound, his face blank and barren of any form of pity or even sorrow- one might dare to say he looked incredibly bored. His robes were black as the night, perhaps even blacker, and stood in harsh contrast to the white of his skin and hair. The deep violet of his eyes was fixated on the woman, a deep heavy gaze that cared not for the man who wept above his prey. He responded not to the man, nor to anything else as he soundlessly removed a black leather glove, showing not a human hand, but one of bone. He reached out, fingers growing closer, bone nearly to skin, but he was stopped before he could touch,
"Take me instead!"
The hand stopped, and the cold amethyst gaze shifted from the dying woman, turning instead to the pale man who clung to her.
"That is not possible. It is not your time." His voice was deep, and more gruff then what was expected from a man with such a childish complexion.
Still, Arthur Kirkland would not take no for an answer, "I don't care! Take me, damnit! Just let her live!" A child could live without a father, it happened all the time- but a mother, no, that was a necessity in any infant's life.
There was a sigh, and then an annoyed respond as he pulled his glove back into place, "What part of that did you not understa-" But he paused, listening for a moment as if he'd just now heard the wailing of the baby. The reaper turned, his dead eyes shifting from the man to the whining child.
He'd heard of this before, of souls that called out to a reaper, of spirits and hearts reaching out to death itself. The tales were told and believed by all his kind, yet not by him. He'd never experienced it before, had never felt his very being pulled to a soul, or felt the reverse- that was, until now. They said that souls would call to their destined reaper, but my, did this soul sing to him.
The two on the bed were quickly forgotten, and in a few great strides he was to the nurse, who cowared back and held the babe tighter. He payed her little mind as he reached out, prying the child from her arms with ease and cradling him in his own. In his arms, the crying and wailing began to die to sniffles and hiccups, until the baby fell silent. It blinked, it's big blue eyes still shining with tears as it looked up at the reaper. After a moment though, it let out a giggle, cooing and clapping in the reaper's arms.
The reaper felt the corner of his lips tug up a bit, as if he wanted to smile at the actions of the young human. He held him now in one arm as he freed the other to hold gently trace a gloved finger down the side of the infant's face. The child grabbed tight to the finger with both of his little fists, staring in complete fixation before it giggled again, pulling it close to cuddle it to his chest. Beneath his fingers, the reaper felt the soft and steady heart beat of the child, and knew right then that this soul was his.