"Lyra. Wake up, my lady."

Someone was shaking her gently, and she groaned quietly, lifting her face from the pillow. "Mm?"

"It is time for you to wake."

She blinked and ran a hand through her tangled hair, pushing it out of her eyes. "What time is it?"

"It's 9:22."

She groaned in annoyance and let her head drop back onto the pillow. "S'too early."

He laughed. "Not a morning person, I take it?"

"Leave me alone, you demonic freak."

"Now, is that any way for a lady to behave? Besides, we have company coming."

She shot bolt upright, instantly alert. "Company?"

He smiled. "Well, that certainly did the trick. Yes, an acquaintance of mine will be paying us a visit today. He'll be here soon, so you might want to make yourself presentable."

She scrambled out of bed and grabbed a fresh towel, hurtling into the shower. "Why did you invite someone here?"

He smirked. "I need someone to keep an eye on you while I go run a few errands."

"Errands?" She paused, shampooing her hair. "I thought you said that the mark didn't allow me to be any more than a few feet from you? How can you go somewhere without taking me with you?"

His smirk widened. "Well, my dear, to put it simply, I lied. My seal isn't quite capable of physical restraint."

She froze. "Wh…why would you lie about something like that?"

"To discourage any escape attempts."

"And if I had tried to run for it?"

"You wouldn't have gotten far."

Lyra shivered despite the warm water, rinsed off, and stepped out, drying off and rubbing the towel across her dripping hair. "Who's coming?"

Sebastian sat on her bed, watching her as she dressed. "Someone that I've known for quite a long time."

The girl swallowed nervously. "Another demon?"

"No, not a demon, though not human, either."

"Then what?"

"You'll see."

She groaned and pulled on black pajama bottoms and a red tank-top, not caring enough to look put-together at the moment. "You're infuriating sometimes, do you know that?"

He smirked. "It's been said before."

Not bothering to dry her hair, she pulled it up in a high ponytail, her bangs lying limp against her cheeks. "So, when will he get here?"

"Right about-"

"BASSY!"

"Now."

Lyra gave a yelp of surprise as a tall, slender man with fiery red hair appeared in the room, pouncing onto her bed and clasping his gloved hands dramatically to his heart. "Dearest Bassy, I always knew you would call for me one day!"

The demon looked quite unimpressed as the newcomer threw his arms around his neck. "Yes, hello, Grell."

Finally, Grell noticed the girl pressed up against the bathroom door with a thoroughly confused expression on her face. It was apparent that this man wasn't human; he had teeth reminiscent of a shark, and his eyes were ringed with a double iris; the outside ring was yellow, while the inside ring was green. Her heart raced as those odd eyes narrowed at her.

"Bassy, who is she?"

Despite the fact that Grell was still clinging to him, Sebastian got to his feet. "Grell, I'd like for you to meet Miss Lyra St. John. Lyra, this is Grell Sutcliffe."

She arched an eyebrow. "And this is who you got to guard me?"

Grell climbed down, pouting. "Is she your new prey? Why do you always go for the kids, Bassy?"

"I'm afraid Lyra is not under contract. She bears a mark of a different sort. "

In a flash, he grabbed Lyra's right wrist and showed her palm to the red-headed man, whose eyes grew wide.

"She's your bed slave?" He squealed indignantly. "I've offered myself to you countless times, and you push me aside for this stringy little tart? It's not fair!" With a flick of his wrist, he tossed his long hair over his shoulder. "And she looks absolutely horrid in red!"

Lyra looked up at Sebastian. "So…is he a fairy or an elf or what?"

Sebastian laughed, but Grell looked positively livid. "How dare you, you underdressed little harlot!" The reaper snarled and produced a shiny red chainsaw from seemingly nowhere, revving the beast up and pointing it at her. His scowl turned into a smirk as Lyra yelped and ran into the bathroom. "Oh, what's wrong, dearie? Not afraid, are you?"

"Enough."
Grell pouted and turned off the machine. "Well, she was rude first!"

Sebastian rolled his eyes and went into the bathroom, finding Lyra huddled in the far corner of the shower. "It's alright, my lady. Come out, please."

She shook her head. "Are you crazy? He's got a fucking chainsaw!"

The demon's eyebrows furrowed. "Language, Lyra. Besides, he won't hurt you."

"Like hell! What makes you so sure that he won't?"

"Because I'd kill him if he did."

She saw the hard flash in Sebastian's eyes and believed that he would back up his threat. Hating to have to rely on him to protect her, she took his hand and came out of the bathroom, staying a good distance away from the redhead.

"Now, my lady, do you work tonight?"

Lyra shook her head. "No, I have Mondays and Tuesdays off."

"Good. I will return sometime before dark. And Grell," he turned to the other man, "please keep in mind that if I find a single scratch on her, I will repay it back to you tenfold. Am I clear?"

Grell gulped. "Of course."

"Very well." He smirked and pulled Lyra into his arms for a quick, but passionate and very invasive kiss. She and Grell both squeaked in protest, but he withdrew soon and vanished. Lyra wiped her mouth and sank to the floor, leaning against the wall. The redhead settled down on her bed, then rolled his eyes.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. You're Bassy's favorite, after all." His voice was tinged with bitterness.

"Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I wanted to be turned into a demon's personal whore?" She narrowed her eyes. "If I had a choice, I'd let you have him all to yourself and go somewhere far away from the two of you."

"Why's that? He is handsome, after all. And so irresistibly cold, suave and yet indifferent-"

"He raped me. Sebastian forced me to have sex with him. Do you understand why I would hate him for that?"

"Hm." Grell arched an eyebrow. "Most women I know would consider it the best night of their lives, regardless of the circumstances. Are you saying he's a bad lover?"

Her cheeks grew red and she looked away. "That's not the point." The girl sighed and decided that since she was getting nowhere with Grell, that she might as well change the subject. "So…Sebastian said that you weren't a demon, but you're obviously not human."

"Of course not." He sat up straight, jutting his chin proudly. "I am a certified reaper."

"Reaper of what?"

He arched an eyebrow. "Do you honestly have to ask?"

Her golden-green eyes widened. "You…you collect human souls when they die?"

"Precisely." He smiled, showing his sharp teeth.

She looked him over, scrutinizing him. "Hm…no offense, but you look nothing like I thought a grim reaper would."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Well…you're not very grim-looking."

His grin widened. "Thank you, dear."

Her eyes fell to the chainsaw, and her muscles tensed in distrust of the machine. "And I thought reapers used scythes…"

He patted the shiny red casing. "This is a scythe." He sighed when she still looked confused. "'Scythe' is a general term for any tool used to harvest human souls." He smiled at it proudly. "Mine's completely customized; a true work of art."

Lyra coughed, obviously not agreeing. "Sure." She squirmed, unable to get comfortable on the floor. Cautiously, she stood and crossed to sit on the bed, scooting toward the wall and away from Grell. "So...are all reapers like you?"

He shook his head, casting a bored look down at the bedspread. "No, most of us live up to our title. My colleagues are so frightfully dull that I have to make my own fun at work." He smirked, showing off his pointed teeth. "It's so entertaining to watch a human's face when I arrive to harvest their soul. They could never believe a creature as stunningly beautiful as me could be the cause of their death." He tossed his hair, batting his lashes. "Of course, that just makes it all the more gratifying when I finally tear their souls from their bodies. The fear and horror in their eyes makes all the office drudgery worthwhile."

Lyra curled up defensively, pulling her knees to her chest. "Look, I know it's part of your job, but could you please not talk about death so lightly?"

Grell's smirk disappeared, and he arched an eyebrow. "Does it frighten you?"

She sighed. "No…but thinking about people dying makes me sad, and I've been sad enough these past couple of days. I don't need an old wound reopened on top of it."

Slowly, the reaper nodded, his expression softening. He sat cross legged in front of her, leaning toward her. "I see. You lost someone precious to you, didn't you? A loved one?"

"My dad."

"Ah. How old were you?"

"Seventeen, almost eighteen."

"So young… If you don't mind me asking, what happened?"

The girl sighed. "There's this disease…it basically causes the cells of your body to destroy themselves, so you die from the inside out. We call it cancer."

"Sounds gruesome."

"It's horrible. It's a slow and very painful way to die, and there was nothing we could do but sit there and watch him fade away." She paused. "Four months after he was diagnosed, he was gone…and it felt like the entire world had stopped." Lyra picked up a pillow and hugged it to her chest. "It felt like I was little…lost and scared in a place that was suddenly so unfamiliar. Things that I'd taken for granted before; eating, showering, sleeping...they all seemed so trivial. Why should I do these things if my dad couldn't anymore?"

"It sounds as though you loved him."

"Of course I loved him. He was my dad…" She sighed. "I was his only daughter out of five children, so from the moment I was born, I was his little princess. I always had dreams of having my father walk me down the aisle, of dancing with him at my wedding, of seeing him holding his first grandchild…but all of my dreams, all of my plans included him, and now he was gone. I didn't know what to do." Lyra sniffed and waved her hand. "Change of subject, before I start crying."

"Just one more thing, dear. What was your father's name?"

She raised her head, arching an eyebrow. "David St. John. Why?"

Grell winked and pulled out a large book with ornate leather binding. "Ah…Aha! There he is! David St. John, collected August 11th, 2009, at approximately ten till eight a.m. Does that sound right?"

She shivered and nodded. "Yeah."

"That's interesting."

"What is?" She narrowed her eyes. "You weren't the one who took his soul, were you?"

"Oh, heavens, no! But the chap who did happens to be a friend of mine." He leaned back on his hands, studying her. "Part of the reaper's job is to view the person's entire existence and decide where they should go from there. Don't you want to know where your father ended up?"

"He's in heaven-"

"Are you sure?"

She chewed on her lip; she'd heard stories about her father from her uncles and aunts, and she knew that the man hadn't been a saint. It stained her certainty with doubt; was he really in heaven? Grell saw her hesitation and smirked. "We can find out, you know. Believe it or not, he doesn't live far from here." He smiled brightly at her. "What do you say, hm?"

She sighed. "What's in it for you, anyway?"

Grell shrugged. "It's dreadfully boring here, and I haven't seen him in quite a long time. Besides, you seem like a decent enough girl, and I don't mind giving you a bit of closure."

Lyra stared down at the bedspread, torn between ignorant bliss and the possibility of facing an unthinkable truth. When her father had died, she'd heard the similar, tired phrases. "He's in a better place." "He'll never really be gone." "You'll see him again someday." They'd done little to comfort her, but she had always been certain that they were true. Now she had the chance to be brave and find out for herself…or remain safely oblivious.

"Alright. Let's go."

The reaper grinned and leapt off the bed. "Excellent!"

"So where is this guy?"

"Like I said, not far. Do you have a vehicle?"

"Yeah, my car."

"Lovely." He smiled and practically skipped to the door in his haste to leave her apartment; she couldn't blame him. All the cleanliness and organization couldn't disguise the fact that that tiny two-room space was a bit of a dump. The paint on the walls was dingy, the carpets frayed and worn, and the vinyl in the kitchen and bathroom was curled and cracked at the edges. She sighed; yes, she lived here, but it wasn't a home.

"Calm down, wait for me."

Grell laughed softly as they walked outside, the human girl pulling out her keys and unlocking her car. The two of them climbed inside as Lyra started the vehicle, then rested her hands on the wheel. "Alright, where to?"

The reaper tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I don't know the streets, so just drive and I'll tell you when to turn, alright?"

She sighed and pulled out. "Fine, but I hope you plan to pay me back for the gas."

As they drove away, Grell said casually, "Tell me more about yourself, Lyra."

"Can I get a 'please'?" She rolled her eyes. "You already know quite a bit about me. I think should tell me more about yourself first."

He grinned. "Alright. Well, you already know my name and what I do. Is there anything in particular you'd like to know?"

"How do you know Sebastian?" The question tumbled out of her mouth before she even thought about it. "I mean, it just seemed like the two of you have some history."

He sighed dramatically. "Well, I first met him through Madame Red, shortly before the Jack the Ripper incident-"

"What?" She felt her eyebrows raise almost to her hairline in astonishment. "Sebastian was involved in the Jack the Ripper case? And who's Madame Red?"

Grell arched a sculpted eyebrow in response. "Heavens, didn't that man tell you anything?"

"No, not really."

"Alright. Well, at the time, I was employed by a woman named Angelina Durless, known affectionately to her friends and family as 'Madame Red.'"

"I can see why the two of you got along."

He laughed softly. "Oh, we got along splendidly for a while. Together, we made up the serial murderer known as Jack the Ripper."

Her jaw dropped. "You're Jack the Ripper?" She slowly shook her head. "It's too bad I can't tell anybody about this. The National Enquirer would pay me a fortune for this story."

The reaper laughed. "Dear, no one would take you seriously. People don't believe in superstition like they used to. Anyway, eventually, Sebastian and that kid caught up to us. Bassy and I were engaged in a marvelous moonlit duel to the death, and just when I had him cornered, Madame Red went soft on me." His lips formed a pout. "She couldn't kill the brat, simply because he was her nephew."

"Ciel was related to her?"

"Yes. The only child of her sister, Rachel Phantomhive. When she couldn't kill him, I killed her." His voice became softer, pensive. "I wish it hadn't been necessary, but unfortunately, she'd become just another woman."

Grell went on to explain how Ciel had ordered Sebastian to kill the reaper, how they'd fought and how Grell had almost gotten sliced open with his own scythe.

"We've had many deadly encounters since then, most of them dealing with some order the kid got from the Queen." He recounted the tales of a sinister puppeteer, a cult led by an angel, and of two great fires that almost destroyed London. "Of course, that was before the Trancy incident."

"Trancy incident?"

"Yes. For a while, the two of them were engaged against a boy named Alois Trancy, who was very similar to Ciel. He too had a demon for a butler."

Lyra rolled her eyes. "Was that just a popular trend back then?"

The reaper smiled as he recounted the entire affair. Alois Trancy, originally Jim Macken, had sealed a contract with a demon, one Claude Faustus by name. The details were complicated, but Alois had wanted revenge against Sebastian for allegedly killing his younger brother, Luka. The contract Alois had made with Claude stipulated that Ciel Phantomhive had to be taken from his butler, and Claude, realizing that the young earl's soul was a rare delicacy, plotted to take Ciel for himself. At the middle of a twisted web of betrayal, deceit, and murder, the demon managed to switch Ciel's and Alois's souls, forcing their similar memories to mesh and become impossible to distinguish. Unbelievably, another demon, Hannah Annafellows, had stepped in, convincing Alois to make a contract with her that required Claude and Sebastian to fight to the death; the winner could finally claim Ciel's soul. However, the contract also stated that after a victim was declared, Ciel Phantomhive would be released…but his soul would cease to exist. He would return to this world as a demon, soulless and hungry, just like the butler who had fought so hard for him.

"And since Ciel had given him an order to remain his butler until the day he consumed his soul, poor Bassy's been stuck with the kid ever since. Take a left here, dear."

She blinked; this was a lot to process. "Wow…no wonder he got so possessive."

"Possessive?"

"The other day, he explained that he found me because I smelled like another demon…and he got this look on face, like he was going to tear someone apart, and said 'I won't let anyone take away what belongs to me.'"

"That's my Bassy," Grell said proudly. "Take a right at this gravel road. It'll be the first building to your right, about two miles down."

She sighed as she made the turn. "This friend of yours lives out in the middle of scenic nowhere."

"Well, he explained that the cities nowadays are too crowded and noisy for his liking, and through his other line of work, he's become accustomed to solitude and silence."

"I thought he was a reaper?"

"Well, for a long time, he had retired from active service and took up his other profession."

"Which is?"

"You'll see."

She sighed. "You are just as vague and infuriating as Sebastian."

"Thank you, dear."

They drove in silence for a while, until a big black house came into view. The yard was overgrown with grass and weeds, and dotted with pink and white wildflowers that looked out of place in front of the dark, foreboding structure.

"Seriously?"

"What?"

"For a grim reaper, he's not very inconspicuous, is he?"

"Well, he's quite attached to the color black."

"So I see."

They pulled into the drive, and Lyra caught sight of the big wooden sign that hung over the door, the letters cracked and faded but still readable.

"The Undertaker…" She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose with her fingers. "I should have seen this coming."

Grell stretched, then put a hand on her shoulder. "Just go ahead in, he never locks the door."

"…Okay."

She walked up the creaky stairs and pushed the door open, the hinges squealing ominously. The front room was large, though cluttered with long, dark boxes; the only light was the weak sunbeams that shone through the dirty windows. It was dusty, hung with cobwebs, and smelled of old wood and chemicals. The space appeared to be deserted, although there were a disconcerting number of places a person could hide.

"Hello…?" Her call was timid, as if half-hoping no one would answer.

"Hehehehe…"

She shivered as she heard the soft, insane giggle. "Who's there?"

"Welcome, girlie. Have you come for a fitting?"

"A…fitting?"

Lyra heard the sound of something heavy being moved, and she whipped around, her eyes scanning the room for movement. Finally, she saw the lid on a box that leaned against the north wall swinging open to reveal the man inside, whom she presumed was the Undertaker.

"For your coffin, of course. Never too early to start shopping, dear."

The lid finally swung wide to reveal him completely; he was tall and pale, with long grey hair that obscured his eyes. A strange, barbed scar ran across his face from left to right; a matching scar circled his throat. The only other distinguishable feature on his face was a wide, toothy grin that never seemed to fade. He wore a long black robe that fell to his shins, displaying black leather boots with tarnished silver buckles. The sleeves of his robe fell over his hands, hiding them from sight. Overall, he presented an antiquated and very eerie figure.

"Uh…no. I'm not here for a fitting…" She glanced behind her, wondering what her reaper friend had gotten her into. "Grell?"

"Don't worry, he won't bite you." Grell sashayed in behind her, flipping his fiery hair over his shoulder and batting his lashes flirtatiously at the grey-haired man. "But if you wanted to bite me, darling, I certainly wouldn't object."

Lyra didn't know how it was possible, but the Undertaker's smile got even wider. "Hello, ginger. It's been a while."

"Over a hundred years," the redhead pouted. "You never visit, you never write. I was beginning to feel ignored."

The Undertaker gave a little giggle, then turned his gaze on Lyra; at least, she thought he did. It was hard to tell when you couldn't see his eyes.

"So, since you're not here to shop, how can I be of service to you, Miss St. John?"

She stared at him, forcing her jaw not to drop. "How do you know my name?"

He crept closer to her, almost circling her. "Oh, I know a lot about you, girlie. In fact, I know about as much as your father did."

She rounded on him, her eyes flashing. "What are you talking about?"

Grell stepped forward. "Dear, he's seen your father's Cinematic Record. Every memory your father ever had was recorded and viewed at the time of his death. In laymen's terms, his life flashed before his eyes."

She relaxed a bit, but still kept a wary eye on the Undertaker. "Alright…"

"That's why you've come, isn't it? To learn about the final fate of David St. John's soul?" He laughed. "Since you're a first-time customer, I'll give you the information free of charge." He sat on one of the closed coffins and produced a tin that held cookies in the shape of bones. He held it out to her, and she shook her head. Grell took two of the dubious treats, then sat beside the Undertaker, munching happily.

"Have a seat, miss."

She looked around for a chair and was dismayed to find none. Biting her lip, she pointed to another closed coffin. "There's…no one in there, right?"

"Not yet."

"Oh, lovely." She sat, incredibly uncomfortable, then looked over at the Undertaker. She couldn't see his eyes, but she could feel him staring at her.

"So then, David St. John. Yes, I remember him. Almost glad to see me, he was. Made me wait a bit before he surrendered his soul."

Lyra fought back the sting of tears as the painful memory surfaced. "Mhm…he waited until my mom and I had left the room."

"And you want to know where he ended up?"

"I…" She looked down at the floor, folding her arms over her stomach, trying to calm its anxious turning. Could she be brave and face the truth, or would it be too much for her fragile heart to handle?

"Well?"

Slowly, so slowly it was hard to see at first…she shook her head. "No. I can't."

The Undertaker only grinned, but Grell frowned, looking confused. "But it's the reason why we came out here!"

Lyra continued to stare down at the floor, hiding her face in her hands. "I'm not brave enough… Losing my dad already destroyed me once, and if I find out that there's no chance of me ever seeing him again…" She shivered and pressed her lips together, suppressing a powerful sob. "I'm not strong enough to go through losing him again. I won't survive it."

"You're afraid he's in Hell, aren't you, girlie?" The Undertaker stood and crossed to her, circling behind her and putting a hand on her shoulder; she saw that his fingernails were long, almost clawlike, and painted black. "And where is it you think you'll end up in the hereafter?"

She glanced up at him, but was unable to look at his spooky grin for very long. "I've surrendered my heart and my soul to God, and I'll be in Heaven when I die."

"Is that what you believe?" He grinned and giggled softly, then crossed in front of her and held out his left hand. She noticed that a strange scar circled the base of his little finger, identical to the ones on his face and neck. "Let me see your hand."

Grudgingly, she put her right hand in his, gritting her teeth as he pulled it closer to his face, studying it carefully. That wide smirk was still curled on his lips as he traced the outline of the scarlet pentagram with the tip of one long fingernail. Lyra shivered, wanting to pull her hand away, out of his grasp. His skin was cool and smooth, but dry, as if he'd had his hands submerged in various chemicals and preservatives that she didn't want to allow herself to think about. It wasn't exactly a pleasant sensation.

"Last I checked, they didn't allow demons in heaven." He smirked and brandished her mark, waving her own hand in front of her face.

Lyra clenched her jaw. "I am not a demon."

"No, but you belong to one, don't you? And he won't let you go so easily." Finally, he dropped her hand. "Funny how that butler shows up again after all these years. It seems I've been running into all sorts of old friends lately." He chuckled, then his hand shot out to grab her chin, pulling her face up. "Trust me, girlie, once a demon's got a hold of you, there ain't but one way out…and it's not through heaven."

Lyra wrenched away, almost toppling backwards over the coffin, and found herself hating the sound of Grell's high titter. "Oh, be nice, darling. She's such a skittish little thing."

She glared at the two reapers, feeling humiliated, angry, and conspired against. "Alright, that's it. This little field trip is over. We need to go."

Grell's ringed eyes narrowed as he pouted. "But we just got here!"

"Leaving. Now."

"Oh, alright." He huffed and stood, then wrapped his arms around the Undertaker's neck, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Farewell, darling. It's been absolutely lovely to see you."

"Likewise, ginger." He smirked as Lyra went to the door. "Come back and see me anytime you like, girlie."

With a growl and a poisonous glare, she stormed out of the room and out in the bright sunshine that seemed to mock her, making a point to crush as many of the pink and white flowers as she could beneath her sneakers. She got into her car and blasted the horn until Grell come out and joined her, then reversed out of the drive and sped away, her tires spitting gravel.

The redhead crossed his arms and pouted. "Well, that was rather rude."

"Shut up."

"Lyra, what's gotten into-?"

"Just shut up!" She shrieked and slammed on the brakes, skidding to a stop as Grell squealed and clung to the dash. "None of you understand anything! Not you, not the Undertaker, and certainly not Sebastian! None of you get it!" She beat her fists against the steering while. "I didn't want any of this! Do you have any idea how painful it is to watch one of the few people you know would always love you waste away? I watched my father die slowly, day by day, and after he was gone, everything fell apart! My family, my friends, my life-nothing was the same!" She clenched her hands around the steering wheel to disguise how badly they were shaking, her knuckles turning white. "I convinced myself that I'd get through it, and that I'd be a better person, a stronger person. I would use my pain and my suffering to push myself, to help others, to do what I thought God wanted of me. And just when I thought I was going to be okay, just when the world started feeling right again, that fucking demon shows up and ruins everything!" She made a strangled sound somewhere between a choke and gasp. "I wanted to be brave, I wanted to prove to myself that despite everything, I was strong enough to survive…but I'm not. I'm still scared and broken, and now I'll never heal. Sebastian…he took so much from me, and now he's going to take away the only safe place, the only source of peace I had left." She bit her lips, her throat working as her suppressed sobs tried to rise. Her sudden outburst had left her hurting more than she cared to admit, but she didn't have the strength to push it away.

Grell remained silent, but gingerly put his hand on her shoulder, his eyes narrowing a bit when she flinched. Oddly, she found the simple touch rather comforting; the weight of his hand made her feel less isolated. He wasn't expecting anything of her, didn't ask that she respond or even acknowledge him. After a few moments, she managed to compose herself and wipe away the tears that had leaked out. With a deep breath, she gave Grell an apologetic, if somewhat watery smile.

"I'm sorry."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Don't be. I've lived long enough to know that humans are an extremely emotional race. Believe me, that was not the worst tantrum I've ever seen."

Sniffling, she started to drive back into town, a strange sense of calm coming over her. She wasn't quite sure why, but she felt closer to the odd, redheaded reaper, more at ease with his company. Go figure, she thought with a dry smile as the re-entered the city limits.

We've actually bonded.

Sorry about the long wait, ladies and gents. This one took a LOT of revision, and I ended up cutting two scenes. Not to mention, the subject matter was a little difficult to deal with... Anyhoo, please review! You know I love hearing from all you lovely people!