The plot thickens even more...with a dramatic reveal about Papa Ge's past...DUNDUNDUUUUUUUUUN (dramatic theme music, just fyi). Enjoy!

Ti Moune woke up with a start. Oh gods...It hadn't been a dream. She inhaled sharply, gazing at her new room. She really was dead. She'd hoped she'd wake up with her family in their humble home. Yet this was her new reality. Without bothering to examine her sleeping quarters, she slipped out of the large, luxurious bed and tip-toed out into the unknown.

She wandered down the hall aimlessly. What did the dead do to pass the time? Death was eternal after all. She set her mind to exploring the castle; perhaps she could discover what beautifully dark secrets lay shrouded in its walls. The shadowy stone walls seemed to be holding their breath, anticipating something. What? She couldn't define it. She intended to find out.

A majority of the doors she tested were locked, which was discouraging. She was about to give up when an old brass door knob turned with her hand. Ti Moune paused momentarily with surprise, took a deep breath, and opened the door. The heavy door whined softly as she gazed upon the scene before her.

The room was inundated with a huge assortment of objects. There was practically a labyrinth before her. Vast stacks of yellowed books towered precariously over her, threatening to scrape the ceiling with their sheer height. Tables were adorned with sketches, rusted tools and machines, pots, volumes of forgotten lore, toys, knickknacks, eye glasses, antique cameras, articles of clothing, and various other items. Her curiosity for life could be satisfied in this room.

She wandered around with the fascination and excitement of a child who discovers wrapped bundles on Christmas morning. She thumbed through thick books, her eyes hungrily scanning their pages. A large, gaudy hat caught her eye, which she quickly donned. She glanced in a jaded, cracked mirror, and burst out laughing. Removing the hat, she found a pair of opera glasses. Peering through them with awe, she noticed something on a table far off. She set the glasses down and clambered her way over towards it. She had to duck under overhanging lanterns and tapestries and even vaulted herself over a various obstacles (a bed frame, three unopened cardboard boxes and a dresser). Finally she came to the table which seemed to be designated as a tinkering table where she found what had caught her attention earlier.

It was a delicate music box with intricate carvings. Two figurines, a man and a woman, were positioned atop the set, dressed in fine attire and poised to dance. They gazed passionately into one another's eyes. She sighed shakily, remembering the dancing at the ball. Daniel. How wonderful things had seemed...before she had to face the harsh reality, the humiliation, the rejection...Ti Moune's finger's gently twisted the lever, expecting music to play and the figures to dance gracefully, but instead the piece fell off in her hand. Her eyes widened in horror. Maybe she could fix-

"Splendid. You broke it." a voice loomed from behind her.

Ti Moune whirled around with a start to see Papa Ge leaning slyly against a bookshelf. How long had he been there?

"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to-"

He waved away her apology. "I was kidding. It was like that. I came to fix it today anyhow." He paused, his eyes examining her. She shifted slightly, suddenly self-conscious. He cleared his throat and continued.

"It's nice to see you're finally awake...after three days"

Ti Moune's eyes widened with shock. "Three days? I was asleep for three days?"

"I did JUST say that.."

She shook her head. "Weren't you worried that I was-"

"You're already dead Ti Moune. Nothing else can happen to you now." he stated bitterly. Despite his harsh tone, Ti Moune noticed that the god was not annoyed with her. Rather, he seemed irked by his own statement. His jaw tightened as he glared at some unknown point in the distance. Out of bravery, she changed the subject.

"What is all of this?"

"This room you mean?" he said calmly "It's a room of the dead."

Ti Moune cocked her head to the side, intrigued. "What do you mean?"

Papa Ge smiled ever so slightly. "People aren't the only things that die. Objects are lost, forgotten, destroyed. But the memories they harbored once gave them life. When that life expires, when they have served their purpose, they end up in my castle. I salvage them. Humanity has such a gift to create, yet look at all it abandons." he gestured with his hand. "In here are books that hold ideas of philosophers long forgotten, of thoughts now neglected. There are tools that once held great importance but have since lost their practicality with changing times. Styles fade and resurface here. Art resurrects itself here."

Ti Moune cut in gingerly. "It's beautiful, in a melancholy sort of way."

Her sudden interruption derailed Papa Ge's thoughts. He looked at her with a sort of realisation. He gazed at Ti Moune strangely, as if her were seeing her fully for the first time. Finally he spoke, softly, the smile lingering on his dark face.

"...Yes. It is. " He tapped his cane against the ground with sudden authority. "Come. I'll show you a bit more of the castle."

Ti Moune followed the god quietly out of the maze of old finery. The way he'd raved about the room's riches-she saw a bit of herself in him. She'd finally met someone who shared in her fascination of the simplest of things. She shoved the exciting thoughts from her mind. To compare herself with a god was ridiculous. She was a peasant, a mere mortal. Papa Ge was all-powerful, mysterious...they couldn't possibly have anything in common.

They eventually came to a plain sitting area. Two chairs sat almost uselessly in the gray, stone-walled room. Ti Moune glanced at the god. There was so much she longed to know. Realising, there was nothing else to pass the eternity that lay ahead, she decided to find out.

She sat down, gazing intently at his face. With kindness. It was so strange; he wasn't accustomed to being treated like this. He was the Demon of Death. And unsurprisingly no human wished to die. Therefore, he hadn't experienced compassion in any way, shape, or form in centuries. Ti Moune's attentiveness, her sudden inability to be repulsed by him, her outright KINDNESS…it unnerved him.

"What are you staring at?" he snapped.

She flinched slightly but quickly regained her composure.

"I'd like to know about you."

"Ridiculous. I'm a Demon of Death. That's all the explanation you need"

She smiled and placed her small hands on her hips. In a tone similar to his, she spoke. "Ridiculous. You must have some sort of past. Or interests. Something."

This girl! What sort of preposterous request was that? No one—no one cared. So he'd thought. Not even Agwe, Asaka, or Erzulie had bothered to ask such a question when they'd first met. The gods only tolerated him. He'd never felt that they took an interest in him, let alone liked him. Now here was this girl, some peasant girl, some seemingly insignificant peasant girl, smiling kindly at him. It was daunting…yet intriguing.

He paused hesitantly. He adjusted his cane thoughtfully and leaned against the wall.

"You really wanna know?"

"Well you know just about everything about me. You spared me when I was a child, and like it or not you've become familiar with me. It's only fair if I know more about you."

Papa Ge laughed out loud. Not his usual laugh used to intimidate mortals. But his genuine laugh, one he hadn't used in centuries. He calmed himself quickly, smiling still slightly.

"You ask strange questions. Most mortals fear me. You did too once. And now you want to know about me? Not of my ability, but me?"

Ti Moune nodded, staring up at him. He cleared his throat.

"Well, I wasn't always like this.."

The memories came flooding back.

Ezekiel and Damon raced through the trees, laughing and screaming at the top of their lungs, spears in their hands and paint smeared haphazardly on their faces. They eventually came to a large tree on the edge of the island. Beyond that lay the ocean. At the top of the tree was a large cluster of coconuts. Damon raised his spear, ready to shoot, until he saw Ezekiel shimmying up the tree.

"Idiot!" Damon called affectionately. "I wanted to practice my aim."

"Oh please, we'd be here all week before you even got close. " Ezekiel yelled, smirking.

The fruit was just out of his reach. Ezekiel positioned himself, ready to pounce. He wobbled a bit, considering he had limited space on the tree.

"Don't die." Damon called up.

"Thanks for the tip." Ezekiel muttered. With that, he leapt, and successfully swiped the fruit. He tumbled to the ground, rolling down the beach, gaining momentum until he finally slowed to a stop. He was very still.

Damon ran over, worry apparent on his face. "Ezekiel? Ezekiel?"

He didn't move.

Damon knelt. Desperately, he slapped his brothers face. "Come on, Ezekiel. Ezekiel!"

Ezekiel's eyes fluttered open. "…Gotcha" he croaked.

Damon thrust some sand into his brother's face and pried a coconut out of Ezekiel's hands, Ezekiel laughing despite the sand in his mouth and eyes. Soon the two were friends again. They went over to a large rock and eventually managed to split open their spoils. They feasted ravenously, gazing at the endlessly rolling waves.

"Let's go swimming!" Ezekiel declared, suddenly standing, remaining coconut juice dribbling down his chin.

Damon shook his head. "Tonton said we needed to hunt. "

"And we will. After a brief swim."

Damon moaned. He knew he couldn't say no to his brother. "Fine." And with that, Ezekiel was sprinting down the beach towards large rocks. Damon bolted after him, abandoning their food and spears.

Poised, Ezekiel mounted the largest rock. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and launched himself into the ocean. He dove down, further and further, scaring schools of fish with glee and observing the colorful scenes below him. Eventually he surfaced for air, only to be pushed back down by his brother. When he resurfaced, he made sure to splash his brother directly in the face.

Soon their competitive nature took hold and it became a splash contest. Ezekiel soon resorted to spitting water directly in Damon's face. Damon shrieked, both hysterical and horrified.

When that got boring they decided to practice diving. They grew more and more daring, Ezekiel even attempting a back-flip. Damon decided to try to replicate his brother's moves. He mounted the rocks. Jumped. But things went horribly wrong. On his decent, Damon's head slammed against a boulder. A sickening crack resounded as Damon fell, screeching in pain, into the sea.

Horrified, Ezekiel dove off of his perch and began searching desperately for his brother.

"Damon! Damon!" His voice grew shriller, rising in pitch and disparity. He finally noticed a crumpled figure on the ocean floor and dove down. He scooped up his brother and fought desperately for the surface. By the time he reached it, he was exhausted. Damon coughed, water erupting from his mouth. It was then when Ezekiel noticed the large gash on his brother's forehead. He swore, feeling worry rising in his chest.

"Oh gods-You're gonna be fine I promise. But I need you to do some work here, I can't swim for the both of us. Come on! Swim!" Ezekiel yelled.

Between coughing fits and sobs Damon whimpered "I can't-I can't-move-my legs!"

"Don't joke around! Come on! Swim!"

"I CAN'T!" Damon screamed.

And finally Ezekiel realised that his brother wasn't faking an injury. Even though he was petrified, he knew he needed to save them both, before the sea overwhelmed them. He position his brother's arms around his neck, so Damon was riding almost piggyback, and tried his best to sound calm and collected. "You'll be fine, I've got you. Hang on-"

He fought desperately against the waves. The ocean that had only moments ago teased and gently welcomed them now seemed a deadly place to be. He noticed with horror that the tide was rolling in. The water rose with rapid speed, submerging his head at times, urging him to give up and just accept his fate. But by some miracle he managed to make it to shore. He thrust Damon onto the sand as gently as he could, but Damon nevertheless moaned in pain. Ezekiel felt disoriented, exhausted. His muscles ached. His lungs felt as if they were on fire, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His heart hammered in his chest and he could feel his pulse pounding in his head. He felt dizzy, and wanted nothing more than to lie on the sand and rest. But this wasn't about him. He had to help his brother.

He examined the wound. It was worse than he'd first perceived it to be. A steady and persistent stream of blood gushed from Damon's head, trickling onto the golden sand. For once, Ezekiel was at a loss. His mind was racing, his heart rate hammering even more rapidly, yet nothing. This was the time to step up! He had to save Damon! But no ideas came. Everything seemed useless. Right when he was about to speak, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. It touched Damon's hand lightly, and simultaneously Damon stopped screaming. He stopped crying. He was still. Eerily still.

Ezekiel whirled around and saw a thin man adorned in ebony finery. He knew immediately that this had to be Papa Ge. The god smiled at him with a wide, ghoulish grin.

"Give him back." Ezekiel said evenly.

Papa Ge chuckled. "It was his time."

Ezekiel scrambled to his feet, his hands clenching into fists. "No-NO!" Give him back!"

"Fool! He is gone! His soul is coming with me! Now leave or I'll take you with me."

Something snapped in Ezekiel's heart. He snatched up his spear and tackled the god. The rolled about on the sand, struggling to kill one another. Finally, Ezekiel got the upper hand and managed to thrust his spear deep into it's chest. Papa Ge shrieked, a sound unlike anything on earth, and there was an eruption of foul black smoke and scorching heat. Ezekiel was thrust backward. He watched in horror as the creature shriveled and eventually left no trace. He didn't understand. Weren't gods immortal?

Papa Ge was gone but a cloud of ominous black mist remained swirling mid-air. It crept silently towards Ezekiel. He backed away, petrified, but the mist continued to advance. Ezekiel was about to run but the mist suddenly absorbed him.

A burning sensation spread throughout his whole body as the smoke swirled around him. He opened his mouth to scream, but the sound was quickly drowned out as the smoke slithered down his throat with an acrid taste. He felt it flow to each portion of his body from the inside; it was sickening. He felt as if he was expanding, that at any moment his skin would split violently apart and then the mist would totally consume him. He felt his vertebrae contorting in agony, his bones re-forming into...something. Any control he'd had over his body was gone. The mist now propelled him into the open air and spun him, faster, faster now as his body was made into a new form. There was a wailing, piercing cacophony screeching in his ears, his eyes snapped open by some invisible force and a heat radiated from them.

Suddenly he was on the ground again, lying in a crumbled heap next to his brother's corpse. Damon was gone. Yet so was Ezekiel.

Ti Moune's face displayed a mixture of sorrow, confusion, and horror. Finally she spoke softly.

"You-you were the little boy."

He nodded at her. "I killed a god...to try and save him. But the universe needs balance. So I was claimed. I was made into Papa Ge, sly demon of death." he finished bitterly. How he hated the title. His voice was hollow. He swallowed and prayed that his expression was blank. The peasant girl was NEVER to see him in pain, he decided.

After a silence she spoke again. "I thought the gods were immortal"

Typical Ti Moune and her constant questioning.

"Usually yes," he stated matter o factly, "but every 700 years there is one day when they are vulnerable. Just my luck, I suppose."

Ti Moune shook her head, her eyes glistening with tears. "I'm so sorry-"

Papa Ge felt a twinge of something inside his chest. He couldn't name it...but he decided to destroy such a feeling. It made him feel weak. Inferior. Vulnerable. It was simply unacceptable! Suddenly, he felt himself methodically snap back into his old, arrogant self.

"I don't want your pity, peasant! Now get out of my sight!" he roared, feeling his eyes flash.

She screamed and ran from the room. He watched her go, yelling awful things to her, until she vanished from view. At last he crumpled to the floor, the pain demanding to be felt. Like a wave washing over the sand, it overwhelmed him, slowly, rhythmically, with increasing intensity. Hot tears escaped from the corners of his eyes. The expanse of years hadn't eased the pain of the incident. No; the wound still felt fresh. He'd ignored it for so long but nevertheless it had always been there. It would always be there. For all of eternity.

He blinked suddenly. Stopping momentarily. He'd made her cry. Scream. Run from him in fear. For a moment he considered apologising. No. He couldn't. It was better this way.

He decided to carry his burden all alone, as he had for centuries. There was no point in hurting a girl who had already been so wounded herself. Let her hate you. Let her despise you, let her be disgusted by the very thought of you. You should only be a memory later on. He nodded to himself. A memory. Nothing more.