Imaginefun- XD your reviews are fine!

Mewtwo3642- Geethanks :3

8888Dearie8888- Yess, you got it!

GigiandMad- Actually, it is possible to be physically ill from grief (hence, "sick with grief"). Thank you!

Confetti108- Thanks!

T.T This made me kind of sad to write, but I really like the end; it cheered me up ;3 you'll see why~!

I do not own Soul Eater!

The sky was neutral. It was neither raining nor was the sun out. There was overcast and it felt to him as though the sky did not know how to address this day. Was it a sad occasion for the loss of life, or a happy one for that life was now starting a new beginning? Like the sky, Death was unsure of how to feel. He had not known Beatrice long, but he was somewhat saddened by her death. He now appreciated human life, seeing it as valuable as a precious stone. While he was not mourning, having not been touched by grief, he certainly was not in a good mood. It was a sort of melancholy limbo in which he would only feel better once Ophelia did.

The burial of Beatrice was that sunless and rainless Tuesday morning. While the invitation had been extended to all of the townspeople, only a few people had shown up. The people who did not attend didn't do so out of disrespect; rather, it was out of respect they did not show up. They felt Ophelia would feel overwhelmed by the numerous strangers. So, the people who came to pay their respects were Ophelia, Death, Nadine, and a handful of students and children who had latched onto Ophelia. They felt her pain as though it was their own. To Death, it was moving.

She stood beside him, her trembling hands clenched tightly together. In them were poppies. Their meaning, he knew, was "eternal sleep." He kept his own hands clasped in front of him, head tucked in respect as the wooden coffin was placed in the ground. The priest was going through the prayer, his withered voice floating somberly through the air. But, Death wasn't paying attention to the blessing of Beatrice's body; he was more concerned about Ophelia.

After accepting her sister's death, Ophelia slowly began to get better. Her fever broke that night and she stopped shivering. It was almost as if her will was killing the sickness. The funeral, though, seemed to be taking its toll on her. She was still weakened from her illness, but she refused any help from him.

Currently, her gaze was fixated on the dirt hitting the coffin with muffled thuds. She shed a few tears, wiping away each one as they descended down her pale cheeks, but she had a faint smile.

Yet, he knew something inside her was shattered. He didn't know what part yet, but he had a sense of foreboding dread it was a part not easily mended.

"...Amen. Requiescat in pace." The priest made the sign of the cross and shut the bible. The men burying the coffin ceased, their job complete.

Death mumbled the same incoherently, following the others' example in making the cross. Ophelia sniffled as the people and priest quietly left, leaving her and Death alone. She walked to the grave and lightly traced her sister's name.

"I'll miss you, Bea. Thank you for always being there for me." She leaned down, placed the poppies against the gravestone, and kissed it.

He hung back, not wanting to encroach on her mourning. He stood as still as a statue until she came back over to him. She looked tired, but her eyes were dry and she looked up at him gratefully.

"I want to thank you, Death. You were there for me."

He reached out and placed his hand on her shoulder. "You don't need to thank me. I may not fully understand how you felt, I never want to see you in pain."

She hugged his arm and murmured, "I'm so tired; I just want this day to be over. Walk me back home?"

"Of course." He let her hang onto his arm as they walked. He kept his pace slow when she noticed her feet dragging slightly in the dirt.

"Death? Will you tell me about your sister?" Ophelia suddenly asked.

He paused, uncertain. She would most likely never meet his sister, at least he hoped she wouldn't, and almost asked her why she'd like to know before he came to the conclusion himself.

"What would you like to know?" She looked up at the gray sky in thought.

"Well...what does she look like?"

Death pondered the question, trying to remember what his sister looked like. He was mildly bothered by the fact he couldn't remember much. "I haven't seen her in centuries and my last memory of her is fuzzy; I hadn't been much older than seventeen. I suppose she has black hair and, as I've mentioned before, one Line of Sanzu. As for her eyes..."

He furrowed his brow, struggling to remember. "She either has gold eyes or red eyes. Most likely gold as that is the common eye color for Shinigami. Honorable Father was the one with red eyes. Our mother had the most beautiful golden eyes; like melted topaz."

Ophelia looked up at him. "What is her personality?"

"Brash," he said automatically, "and stubborn enough to butt heads with Honorable Father. No, maybe not stubborn...stupid. No one dared to speak to him the way she did, not even our mother. My sister is definitely one not to be trifled with. She has an even more negative concept of humans than I ever did. I guess that is where she is more like Honorable Father than me. He despised humans with every fiber of his being."

"She sounds very frightening." She admitted. "What's her name?"

"Miata. I wouldn't worry about her; I'm not sure if she's even still alive."

Ophelia frowned. "But, wouldn't you gain her Line if she died?"

He looked down at her incredulously. Was that possible? "Huh, you know, I've never thought about that before. You may be right."

She momentarily looked smug before asking, "How much older is she than you?"

"Two hundred years. I believe her six hundredth is nearing soon, actually. If I knew where she was located, I'd send her a birthday present." He added the last sentence bitterly, a tone which Ophelia picked up on.

"Did you two not get along?" He shook his head.

"No, it's not that. She holds resentment toward me because I am more powerful, despite being the younger one. When she stormed out, I can't remember, but I get the sense she and Honorable Father were arguing because of me. She hated living in my shadow." He replied, his voice losing its bitterness.

Ophelia nodded like she understood, but he knew she didn't. She and her sister hadn't been acrimonious rivals fighting for power and their father's acknowledgment. They got to her house and Death walked her inside.

"If you start to feel worse again, use your mirror to contact me. You know the-"

"Yes, I do." She smiled, the smile not quite reaching her eyes.

He let his thumb brush her cheek. Her smile softened and he retracted his hand. "I'll be at the Academy if you need me."

"Yes, yes, go already!" She made a shooing motion, to which he chuckled softly.

"That desperate to get rid of me, hmm? One of your suitors must be coming." He tantalized, keeping his tone light.

She rolled her eyes. "What would they want with an old bird like me? Besides, you're the only one for me."

Her honesty surprised him and he gaped at her. At first he thought she was teasing, but the expression on her face said otherwise. She was looking at him confidently, a somewhat challenging glint in her eyes. With a growl, Death removed his mask, daringly kissing her. He heard her breath hitch and he pulled away. She pressed her hand to her mouth, staring up at him jarringly. He winked and replied, "As you are the only one for me, my love."