"How did you do it?"

They kept asking the same question. Marie didn't have their answer. All she had wanted to do was live. Couldn't they see she didn't know?

As the reaper of her soul collected the records of her dying body, the reels of her life couldn't be tamed by the reaper's scythe. Instead, they twisted and turned, glowing so bright the reaper couldn't see before it all dimmed down and revealed the tiny child-black hair now white and brown eyes green rimmed with gold. She'd turned herself into a reaper. There was only one reaper in history that had done so: Death himself. Legends say it was a gift from the gods as a chance at another life. The story of the Legendary Death was known by every reaper and it went:

'In the beginning, the gods sent three angels to the surface to watch over the humans. They were known as Black, Silver and White or Dawn, Dusk and Day.

As time passed, they were introduced to the other angels later sent to the surface. But the most beautiful of them all was a goddess named Moon. All three brothers—Black Silver and White—fell in love with her. However, Moon was married to Night, and it was Night who kept her away from all three siblings. Day understood that she could not be obtained, and he soon found a lover in Sun. Dawn and Dusk were not so easily swayed. Being the most creative of the three, Dusk took rays from Sun and lit fires in the clouds every evening to distract Night.

He did this every night, and the two lovers met in secret during their short time Night was distracted on top of a hill beneath an oak tree. They were soon to be wed when Black discovered their secret. He informed Night, who killed Moon and hung her from the sky on her wedding night as punishment for her disloyalty. Silver found her body, and as he grieved over it, Dawn beheaded him.

Black was later tried for his crimes and banished to the underworld to bathe in his loathing and sin whilst the gods bestowed upon Dusk a new life. However, also knew that he had committed a great crime for loving a married woman, so they reprimanded him by taking away his sight and emotions so that he could never love again nor let his feelings o'ercome his judgment of the souls in which he would be cursed to ferry for all eternity.'

Because of this legend, many were starting to believe that this new reaper, one who had resurrected herself (possibly by the will of the gods themselves), was quite special indeed.

Now Marie was seated at the end of a table, glasses perched upon her nose from her new lack of vision. The room was all white, minus the suits worn by men (and one woman) sitting along the table.

"Ms. Francis, we need an answer!" A man with blonde hair slicked back stood up and banged his fists on the table.

"Supervisor Geier! Sit down!" snapped another reaper, his voice heavy with a German accent. "We did not bring you here from Berlin to intimidate the child." The man scoffed, glaring at the blonde named Clayton Geier as the supervisor sat down.

"Mr. Baasch," said a bland voice. The man, who was the Director of the German Dispatch, reared his head to look at the man who had spoken, sitting besides Martin Riesenberg, whose black hair was slicked back—William T. Spears. "I believe, based on the analysis of procured evidence, that this particular reaper cannot tell us any answers. If we wish upon obtaining these answers then I suggest we observe young Francis. The resolutions may lie in what has yet to be seen."

"Who is he to speak out at the meeting of the board of directors?" hissed Clayton with a deadly snarl.

"Who are you to speak-eh, Geier? Are you no' a supervisa as well-eh?" The only woman in the room spoke with an Italian accent. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a bun, and loose strands fell around her heart-shaped face like a frame.

Clayton was about to speak when Mr. Baasch held up a hand to silence him. "Mr. Spears, I do believe I concur with your beliefs. As this was your suggestion, I shall assign you as Miss Francis' caretaker. Should you have any problems, I believe the Italian Director, Ms. Knox, has held that position before. Am I correct?"

Felicianna Knox nodded, nudging a loose blonde hair from her eyes. "Yes, my son works under Mr. Spears."

"Then it is decided, Mr. Spears will preside over Ms. Francis-Spears until she becomes of age to attend the Academy where she shall become an officer of the Dispatch. Are we all in agreement?" The German looked around, and he blinked as many nods rippled throughout the room—all except three. William T. Spears, Clayton, Marie Francis, were among those three. "I bid the day finds you all well, gentlemen…and gentlewoman. Until next time, I shall bid all of you adieu. Good day."

As Mr. Baasch stood, the other directors and supervisors stood and bowed to the German Director. In a single file, they all left until only three remained.

"Aye, Will, good luck with the little squirt. I'll get Sutcliff to cover your shift so you can settle her in. It is gonna be a long nine years," Martin said, patting William's shoulder as he turned to leave.

"Thank you, Mr. Riesenberg. I appreciate your generosity." The ravenette bowed to his superior as the door closed behind Martin to leave the two reapers alone in the room.

Marie had stayed silent the entire time the meeting had been held. All she knew was that this man was going to take care of her for a very long time. She looked at him as he stood upright and met her gaze with an emotionless façade. They stayed like that for an excessive length of time, and neither of them moved until William sighed. He closed his eyes, adjusting his glasses before walking forwards and holding out his hand.

"Greetings, Ms. Francis. I am William T. Spears of the London Division under the British Dispatch. For approximately nine years, two months, one hundred and thirty-eight days I shall be responsible for every breath and action you take. Should you have any questions, feel free to ask."

Shyly, the girl looked at the hand and then at William before offering her own, tiny hand to the reaper standing above her. The supervisor shook her hand gently, wondering how on earth he could ever manage to care for a child. He wasn't ready for this. He never asked for this. However, he had no say in the matter. No questions, no hesitation, no remorse—he had to leave by these three morals, or he feared he would no longer be a Shinigami.

Xxx

Beautiful murals and colors blended together above and around Elzabeth. Her room was painted with a long mural on every wall except one. Her bed was in front of it perpendicular-wise. To the left of her bed was a small nightstand. Across the room was a dresser and to the right of that was a long closet. There were only two windows in her room; both were on the wall opposite of the door. Elegant, white curtains flowed to the ground, framing the window as a light breeze stirred them from the slight opening in the right window. Light poured into the dark room, causing its occupant to stir from her deep slumber.

Elzabeth groggily slid her eyes open, groaning as she rolled over and let the blue pillow beneath her hide her face from the world. The white reaper, every muscle heavy and fatigued, let out a tired sigh—another day of work.

With a small groan, she slowly rolled over once more and sat up as her eyes slowly adjusted to the light and scanned the room. Even through the cloud of sleep and her blurry vision, she knew exactly what lined the walls and ceiling of her bedroom; after all, she painted them. This room was her life, literally. It was a timeline of her nearly ninety-seven years of existence. Naturally, the mural wasn't that old; it wasn't until she was nearly seventy that she started to paint it. The timeline began on her left at the corner of the white wall and the mural. Delicate strokes of orange and yellow came together; the sun poured out its brilliant soul of hot oranges and reds into the clouds painted around it like a pot of molten lava. The tranquil clouds, so tenuous and thin, seemed almost as frail as its painter. However, these clouds all had one distinction from those one would usually see. They were white, veiled from the bleeding sun and dissimilar to everything. Elzabeth—they represented the reaper who stared intently at the mural for a moment. It was her beginning, the end of her mortal life and the beginning of her not-so-immortal life. Being young forever had its perks, but it wasn't forever. They told her it wouldn't be.

As she clambered out of bed, her bare feet brushing the soft white carpet, her pale hands searched the nightstand for her glasses. Wrapping around the spectacles, she picked them up carefully before using both hands to carefully slide them upon her face, watching as the world came into sharper focus.

The mural she was facing now was the one she hated the most, yet she knew it had to be there. Thorns like the claws of a falcon were running along a string of green that wrapped and coiled like a snake around its prey. It was a mess of brambles, choking and squeezing the life out of its victim. Elzabeth was the heart wrapped in those thorns, and it was the disease that was literally closing around her, suffocating her and constricting every breath she took. And with each withdrawal, the snake squeezed even tighter.

Those thorns embroidered the mural, they ran throughout her entire life. They were her life's story-the thing that controlled everything that she did-the thing that was...her.

Blue had always been her favorite color, but it was the green of stems and the red of thorns and the blood they drew that filled her white canvas of life. Blue had no say in her life, it was just a color in the sky-a place she could not yet reach. Thus, blue was rarely in her pictures. It was just an accent in the background. Blue was Elzabeth: a thing that had little place in the world. Why had they had such suspicion of her? Why did they think she was special? Did the directors know her fate? Of course they did, the directors knew everything. They were the head of the serpent named Dispatch, and, like a body, the parts beneath the head could never ask questions. Follow everything as instructed, without hesitation, with dignity, with competance, without emotion-that was their law. That was their life.

Standing now, the reaper trudged across the floor towards the closet full of clothes. As she pulled open the sliding, wooden door (painted white), she reached in to grab her usual white and black uniform she wore to work on a daily basis. However, her hand brushed the fabric of one of the many dresses she never wore. Some were from friends on her birthday, others were from the many shopping expeditions she had been dragged onto with Grell and Rae, and the others were the ones she started to buy herself. Seldom would she take one of those dresses from their perch on a hanger and walk over to the mirror on the other side of the closet in the corner to put it on and admire herself for only a few moments. The dresses never left her home, and she'd never been caught in one before. So why keep the dresses? Perhaps it was the memories of the people that might have cared about her, or the places she went to get them (some of them from the few friends she held dear). Maybe it was because of her limited time left that she was trying to find the perfect dress to wear in her final rest. Whatever the reason, she held them dear to her heart, and wouldn't give them up for the world.

Pulling her uniform from the closet, Elzabeth walked over to the mirror before she then began undressing herself in front of it. Her green and yellow eyes tried to avert the image, though she was forced to look when one of the buttons in her plain white pajama top became too difficult to do without seeing it. Those polychromatic depths fell upon what she believed to be a gruesome sight. Vines were snaked across her body in erratic patterns—twisted and gnarled in every direction. They weren't tattoos, but instead, they were beneath her skin like scars sticking up from the inside. They came up, every vine coming from the ends of her fingers or toes and pointing towards the heart they were targeting.

The Thorns of Death—she'd been diagnosed twenty years ago.

After twenty years, she'd managed to keep her darkest secret between the doctors and herself; William didn't have to know. He'd make her stop; he'd stop her from doing her job and force her to stay home or do something else less stressing. Stress only advanced the disease at a faster rate. They'd given her six more months to live. Twenty years ago they said she shouldn't worry about it, they'd find a cure for it. Yet, here they were, twenty years later, and no cure. It was okay, though. She'd accepted her death a long time ago.

There was only one other reaper in the last five hundred years that had contracted this disease: Alan Humphries. In 1888, Eric Slingby had tried to save the young Alan by trying the mythical cure of killing one thousand pure souls. However, the reaper had failed and both had turned up dead. The injuries on Mr. Humphries were made by Eric's scythe, and they had determined Eric's death had been by demon. After the investigation, they blamed Alan's death on the reaper Slingby, and Eric had been deemed dishonorable and striped of any commemorations he would have received had he died respectfully. He was denied a funeral and they let his body rot where it lay when they found the two.

Everyone had attended Alan's funeral, and the young reaper had been given special awards posthumously. He died a hero for his bravery with the Thorns of Death. They say that there was an unmarked grave next to his, placed their anonymously, and that it had been mysteriously placed there by a stranger with a black top hat. The grave was said to be the body of Eric Slingby, and it was placed there because the two had been supposed lovers; however, it was never proved, therefore the grave lay unmarked and Alan Humphries long forgotten. Elzabeth had yet to even be born by that time, and she could only know what others told her.

Nevertheless, she wouldn't let herself believe in such fairytales, nor let anyone get close enough to dare risk themselves for her. As long as she let herself be cold and emotionless, she would have less friends and no one would miss her when she was gone. No one would get hurt. If Rae was gone, that was one less person she would have to worry about when she was on her death bed. All she had left was Grell, Ronald, and William. She doubted William would actually care, and she believed that Grell would try to stay emotionless for Ronald's sake. This was good; she'd accomplished her two goals. The first was to be the best reaper she could be—to be the reaper William wanted her to be and to make him proud. Then, secondly, she wanted to die with the least amount of people hurt. She was inferior to them all; she shouldn't matter. Reaper shouldn't be remembered, or linger on lost friends. That would only hold them back, and emotions would start to stand in the way. It was bad for their overall efficiency. However, deep down, Elzabeth just wanted someone. Someone to be there for her at her funeral, to know someone cared. All she had was Ronald. Sure, he was annoying, flirtatious, and couldn't keep his eyes on a pair of breasts for more than a few seconds before looking at the next, but he was the only one who seemed like he actually cared at times. William was supposed to be her caretaker as a child, yet he'd ignored her for nearly nine years. When he did pay attention, it usually ended in that plain look that made her feel so small and unimportant. Like: what purpose could she ever bring to the Dispatch? She was just another statistic. Another reaper with a life cut short. Elzabeth knew Grell wouldn't have long either; she could see he was reaching his own breaking point. If Grell died near her own death, Ronald would attend his mentor's funeral instead as well as William. Then she would have no one…

Even now, Elzabeth was green-eyed; she was jealous because Grell had everything she wanted. Grell had everyone wrapped around his finger as if the world revolved around him. Why was he so depressed if he had everything he wanted? Well, if he had everything Elzabeth wanted: someone who cared.

Grell had William, and Ronald, and Rae, and Chester, and Hollis, and Brooke, and Alexander (the head doctor whom Grell also had a man-crush on), and Benjamin (at the front desk), and Martin Riesenberg, and even Lawrence Anderson. Who didn't Grell have? Elzabeth didn't have anyone. When Death came for her, she would be alone.

Isn't that what she wanted? To be alone so that no one could get hurt?

There was just one flaw with that plan. Someone would get hurt: Elzabeth. Could she really leave knowing that she had been alone her entire life? Hiding behind a mask so that she could please the one person that looked at her as if she were worthless? Maybe she really was worthless. She was meant to be alone. She was meant to be in pain. 'So,' she rationalized, 'I should keep my head high and live through the pain like I have my entire life until the end. If no one comes, so be it. No one should care about someone like me.'

Eventually, William would have to love her. These six months were her last, so she would just have to work harder than ever to get his attention. Yes, that was the answer.

Elzabeth finished dressing, straightening out the few crinkles here and there in her outfit. Green eyes looked back up at the mirror to scan over herself before she gave an affirmative nod. That should do it.

Turning, Elzabeth made her way out of her room and downstairs to the white kitchen. Normally, anyone would have made coffee in the morning; they would have made coffee in their coffee pot. Not Elzabeth. No, the reaper didn't put any coffee in her coffee pot; she never did. Instead, Elzabeth put packets of chocolate powder where the coffee filter should have gone and ran water through it for her daily morning beverage of hot chocolate. She absolutely hated the taste of coffee. Hot chocolate gave her just as much energy, and it tasted better. What more could she ask for?

As the water ran through the coffee maker, Elzabeth made herself a bowl of cereal and ate it in solemn silence (save for the bubbling of the pot on the granite countertop). Eyes scanned the black mahogany cabinets in her white kitchen with a silver sink. Everything had to match; everything had to be perfect. Perhaps that was just a little kink she inherited during her stay with William T. Spears.

A small knock disrupted her silent solitude, and the ivory haired reaper looked out the open doorway towards the door that had been knocked. Setting her empty bowl in the sink, Elzabeth walked over to the door and opened it to come face-to-face with the infamous Ronald Knox himself.

"Ronald," Elzabeth observed with a bland tone, a characteristic frown on her face as she looked the blonde up and down.

"Morning, Elz!" chirped Ronald, giving a mock salute as he allowed himself in and walked past Elzabeth as if it were his own home. White oxfords sinking in the white carpet, Ronald looked around with his hands in his pockets. "You don't change decoration much do you? It's been like this for the last, like…since I first came here."

Elzabeth closed the door with a scowl, crossing her arms as she walked past Ronald to her kitchen. "Last time I checked, this wasn't your house. You have better manners than to waltz into a home announced, or come inside and tell them to redecorate. I am content with the way my home is now."

Ronald rolled his eyes, walking to the kitchen as he leaned against the doorway, crossing one ankle over the other and then crossing his arms. "Last time I checked," he echoed with a small smirk, "the old Elzabeth kept pestering her daddy about how 'Silly Ronnie' is too cool for manners."

"I was eight," she countered with a scoff, pouring hot chocolate to a mug and reaching towards one of the black cabinets for marshmallows.

"Yes, and you're just as cute as you were then. The only difference now is that you're datable!" he quipped, smiling brightly only to have a glare in return as Elzabeth looked over her shoulder before she then rolled her eyes and went back to making her hot chocolate. "What'cha doin'? Marshmallows don't belong in coffee."

Dropping the mini marshmallows into the hot beverage, Elzabeth sighed. "It's hot chocolate, Ronald."

"Hot chocolate? For breakfast?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow with a small smile as he let out a small chuckle.

"Yes, for breakfast, Ronald. I hate the taste of coffee. Hot chocolate is just as effective and tastes much better," she explained, turning around before leaning back against the corner and taking a tentative sip from her mug.

Laughing at that, Ronald rolled his eyes and stood up straight. "Then, by all means, enjoy that hot chocolate. Grell-senpai called in sick today, so me and you are supposed to cover his shift."

"First of all, Ronald, it is: you and I, not me and you," she corrected with a frown before continuing. "Secondly, why does it require the both of us to cover one shift?"

"Apparently, because Grell-senpai is a senior officer, he can take any shift by himself. His shift was in the same area where Rae and Hollis were taken, so it's put on alert until the investigation if over with. Which means: all non-senior officers are supposed to take a senior officer with them, and that you're stuck with me: a senior officer." Ronald did the Death-pose, grinning wide with a wink as he did so, and causing the white-haired reaper nearby to snicker.

"Honestly, you'd think after eighty years that you would be a senior officer," she muttered, taking a gulp of hot chocolate with a scowl. Today was going to be 'one of those days'.

The blonde leaned against the counter next to Elzabeth with a smirk. "Well, whenever you're ready, Princess~" he teased with a chuckle and wink.

"Don't call me that," hissed the younger of the two, finishing her hot chocolate and using a small napkin to wipe the chocolate moustache off the top of her lip. The moment she threw the stained napkin away, she nodded towards Ronald. "Alright, let us go."

Without having to be told twice, Ronald hurried towards the door to open it for the other grim reaper with a charming smile. "Ladies first."

Elzabeth rolled her eyes, muttering a "thank you" to the Death God nearby as she stepped outside and down the pavement of the pathway to the street. All the houses were identical on the outside, lined up by rank and year in a systematic pattern that so matched the owners of these houses. As she was still a normal-ranked officer, she was only halfway to the top where the tall, towering building known as the Shinigami Dispatch Building was located. It was so high; you could see it all the way from the outskirts of the realm and still not be able to see the top of it. Glass windows reflected the light of the sun and glared at those beneath it.

Ronald obsequiously followed Elzabeth up the road towards the Dispatch building with his arms clasped behind his dual-colored head. The blonde looked at the sky through his goggle-like glasses like he usually did. It was always his tradition to look at the sky when he was outside. He never knew quite why he liked to; maybe it was just the clouds. Thin, frail, and wispy above him in the blue ocean hanging over their heads. "Why does it always look so pretty here? It rarely rains, or snows…it just seems perfect all the time," commented the blonde with pensive frown and blink.

"I'm not quite sure. Perhaps the gods just want it to be like that, I won't question it. We spend most of our time in an office or in the mortal realm to really worry about it at any rate. I wouldn't linger on it," replied the other with a stoic countenance.

Ronald fell silent, following her without another word on the way to the Dispatch.

Xxx

AN:

Wellllllllllllll~ I might have posted this on schedule, but anyone who lives in America (well, most of my viewers don't live in America. I looked at my story traffic and most of you are actually from Italy and the Netherlands? So thanks for the views across the world!) knows that we are kinda~ being attacked by a huge blizzard… My Internet is satellite, and obviously you can't have Internet if it is snowing…Therefore, I am behind schedule. Yaaaayyyyy! :l Not really.

Anybody love the description of the mural of the sun Elzabeth painted? It took me literally an HOUR to write that. Unfortunately, poetry isn't really my field of expertise. I try to be as descriptive as possible with my writing, but I am afraid that my vocabulary is extremely limited. My life is still very short, and I have not had the opportunity to expand my range of word use. I do try my best, so any reviews over my description of the mural would be much appreciated so I can improve in that aspect :).

Anyways, the theme for this song is Alan's theme song in the musical (the one that probably made millions of fangirls cry): Sei to Shi no Sukima by Matsumoto Shinya. I can't help crying when I listened to this. So warning to those who watch it: Crying is Inevitable. I'm too girly for my own good...But I am a girl...so I guess that's okay...sorta...whatever XD

I hope you enjoyed and I'll post my new one-shot and update this story on schedule, hopefully :)