AN: Hi! Thanks again for continuing to read. This is a short chapter, but will be ultimately a long story, so please enjoy full character development of the OC as well as the myriad of canon characters to come. As you might have observed from the last chapter, Syn is not a typical spirit. Please note, that I will not refer to Shinigami in the Japanese sense because we are England and bound by English/European references to Death. Hope that doesn't dull things for you guys.

As usual, please review. I would love to hear what you think. Happy reading!

Chapter 6

For nearly three hundred years, It lingered. When Syn was first called into existence, confusion washed over It as gently as a ripple, caressing the flowering consciousness just as it came into focus. Tinges of memories surfaced that did not belong to It anymore than they might belong to a piece of film; the negative highlights contrasted the light and dark a bit too sharply, a bit too unclearly to know for certain. The tug to answer Its call was too strong to disregard, however, and when It came into being, the first vision given was that of a Book and a spoken agreement between mortal and immortal worlds.

There were beings sharing Its existence too, but they were different. Gangly creatures, fickle, emotional. Spirits of ambition, but with so little knowledge. Inexperienced. Immature. They waged war on each other, prided themselves with imaginary ideals, and fancied the notions of love and fortune and the possibility of a salvation that did not exist, at least not in the way they perceived. These concepts meant nothing to Syn, who stood as a mute sentinel, a witness to the consequences of their choices and the impact they had on their own realm.

Immortality. To live forever. That was the sole reason for Its existence. A plea made long ago, and as long as the cycle was maintained and the Book was used, Syn would remain.

This plane, this Earth was unfamiliar, so heartless and lonely, despite being the only place It had ever known. The ambivalence Syn regarded for these creatures, these humans as they were referred to, eventually dissolved into a bland curiosity. Perhaps that was natural for Its kind. It wondered why they felt the need to affect change in their world. It wondered why emotion drove them so carelessly. Syn pondered then why It lacked such fervor, a deep-seated understanding that such effort made very little difference in the end. Most things simple are.

The book passed many hands, but it could only be controlled by a select few. That was the agreement between the Old One and the mortal quavering before Awe. The price of its use was high, but the benefit was immediate, however shortsighted the deal actually was for the human involved. Syn innately knew this, but remained silent. Without the Book, It would cease to be.

It observed how the Book changed those who were in control of it. The innocence bled from the human Holder like tears, seemingly aging them internally beyond any surficial youth preserved by the Book's use. Their souls darkened. Their actions became tainted no matter the resilience of their resolve. Yet, the transition would aid them in the end, no doubt, when they eventually expired and shed their skin to meet the Old One again, this time as Its servant rather than simply Its disciple. Syn knew this too, but again remained silent, for these beings were fragile and exposing the cosmos so quickly could prove harmful to the process and moot in its effect anyway.

Some Holders regarded the Book with cult-like fascination. Others rejected the prize offered to them, defiant in their morals to never use such 'evil' to their benefit. Neither approach mattered, as the end result was the same. The Book would be passed, as it always had, to one who would use it at least once in their lives. The compulsion was too great to be ignored. Their realm was too violent, too unfair, too confusing to disregard the power bestowed upon them. And as the guilt or pride slowly consumed the individual, another power was fed in the Beyond that waited for them.

The Book of Death was indeed a rare object. To be bestowed upon a human, it was the only one of its kind.

Like the Book, Syn too was the only one of Its kind.

That was not to say that It did not see other creatures like It on the rare occasion. Although the Book of Death was an exceptional item, it was not the only Book of its likeness. All creatures of Death carried one, and like Syn, these beings possessed an affinity, or were required, to follow the trials of the Human world. Syn wondered if these so-called 'Angels of Death' were once human themselves, and as such felt the draw to return. Perhaps these were past Holders. Syn did not know. But, it somehow did know the rules of their Books differed to the one It was bound to. Such a power inevitably drew them to the Holders, either by accident or by intent, to feed on an opportunity to bend the human to their will. Syn did not like these creatures and was quick to realize that It had the ability to destroy them if It so desired. To come too closely to the charge that summoned It was a threat.

Perhaps that was a trait carried over by the Old One into its conscience; one of the many differences between Syn and the familiar Angels around It. Syn too had the ability to reach into the mortal world, but only chose to do so if Its Holder was in danger and unable to fulfill their duty.

Such was the lonely cycle. Syn was isolated and apathetic. Its only objective was to continue Its existence and ensure the Old One's deal was met. The observations of the beings surrounding It posed only the most modest of curiosity. Perhaps Syn should care. Perhaps there should be a more invested interest in the world It inhabited and the creatures that visited out of boredom or cause. The exertion of this contemplation alone, however, was enough for Syn to withdraw.

Too much effort, really.

If It knew anything at all through the centuries of Its existence though, Syn understood that life for the Holder was a difficult one. No amount of luck would ease the misfortunate that followed a Book of Death – The Death Note.

Syn looked upon the child before It. Jessica was a small girl, pretty and charming as her upbringing taught her to be. Her long brunette hair curled over her lithe shoulders and framed a delicate, heart-shaped face. Her straight nose and light eyebrows highlighted the roundness of her hazel eyes. High cheeks paired with thin lips. Many humans would regard her as beautiful when she reached adulthood. It had seen these features throughout the entire line of her family. Beautiful humans capable of doing terrible, ugly things.

Although her grandfather had little control to whom the Book was passed, Syn understood that there was a sigh of relief that the passage would skip a generation. Indeed, the old politician locked the Book away deep within a safe the moment the child was born, and had since been careful to ensure her education so that she might be prepared someday. Of course there was no amount of preparation to relieve the shock, he knew. The old man's disbelief took years to wane after his own brother passed away. Acceptance was impossible, the list of names lining pages and pages and pages sending queasy sensations through the human every time he looked at it.

Humans were weak.

This girl would be no different.

Even now, as Syn watched her slowly leaf through the Book, It could sense the inquisitiveness rise within her. What would possess someone to desire an object like this? Why are there so many names? Are these all people killed by the Book? How do people die? These questions rang like bells around her spirit, radiating off her aura in shimmering aqua hues; a familiar haunting tune It knew all too well.

Jessica reached a blank page in the ledger and placed a shaky palm over the thick, unholy parchment.

"Syn."

The specter remained mute in Its corner of her bedroom. Weeks passed since she returned from Switzerland, and summer was nearing an end. For the most recent days, the girl sat on her bed, tentatively thumbing the binding the book in horror. It was as though she could not believe such a tome was real, much like she very much wished her Grandfather were still alive and that her reality was as it was before.

But all things are finite. All things have an end.

"How did my grandfather die?"

She was young. Curious. She was human, after all.

"His heart failed."

Jessica's hand remained hovering over the page. Syn could feel her blood racing.

"Did you know he was going to die?"

"I know when all creatures will die."

She blinked, "Did you know how he was going to die as well?"

Syn pondered Its answer, "Humans can be unpredictable as they are obsessive."

Tears began to well under her hooded lids. The sun was shining through her window, casting her profile in brilliant shades of gold against stark shadow. Slowly, Jessica's fingers reached to the edge of the page, turning it back to reveal the bottom of the register.

George Robert Lambert II, June 16th 1988

"Why?" Her voice barely registered.

Syn observed her, Its deep, gravelly response empty by comparison to the quakes of sorrow emanating from Its charge below, "Perhaps he was tired."

With a human, who is to say?