There never was a soul more perfect than Michael Crowley's—nor more perfect a meister, a friend, or a fiancé. Michael was a bright, shining beacon among the DWMA's graduates with his shining halo of blond curls, warm brown eyes, and a smile that could melt the most cold-hearted person. He had forged his partner Auriel Saint – the flaming sword of God – into a death scythe. She was one of the only death scythes that could transform into more than one weapon after consuming the souls from rogue demon weapons.

It was a source of pride for him, to have helped Auriel achieve such a feat. His own power was a source of pride as well. And it was his pride that killed him. Auriel had not been ready to go after that witch, not so soon after the death of her brother Azrael – her twin soul from birth. But Michael had grown arrogant in his power, and Auriel had too much faith in her meister.

Her god.

She was his creature, wholly and completely.

If there was a soul to take, she was at the beck and call of her beloved. And call he did – for a Gorgon was a challenge fit for no one but Death's Chosen.

Then he died too, the witch's magic piercing him through the heart. As he lay dying, he bade his partner – his beloved creature – to consume his soul so that they could remain in perfect resonance forever. And Auriel obeyed, swallowing his soul so it would nestle perfectly within her own for eternity.

For this crime, she was placed on remedial leave; Death was unable to condone one of his death scythes consuming a soul without authorization. As such, Death wanted her close. No far-off, lofty positions watching over souls in other parts of the world. Auriel would remain in Death City until Death himself could trust her again. So, remain she did, allowing her guilt and grief to consume her from the inside out the way she consumed Michael's soul.

Five years had passed without so much as a reprimand. Auriel had been the perfect weapon once more, though she had little to do with reaping since her demotion. Instead, she taught literature and language arts at the DWMA so that Death could keep an eye on her. But the fact that she had recently started drinking must have caught his attention because here she stood, twiddling her thumbs in the death room like a child awaiting her chastisement.

"Auriel," Death began affectionately. "I believe it's time to begin the rehabilitation stage of your remedial leave."

Auriel's gaze remained on her toes, her hands digging into her long black skirts. Her many rings would catch in the soft material, but she didn't care. She didn't care about much of anything anymore.

"You gonna just stand there, Auri?" A jovial, teasing voice asked to Death's right.

Auriel swallowed and met Spirit Albern's gaze. They had been at the DWMA together, Spirit a few years older than her though they both became death scythes around the same time. He had been one of her only friends who hadn't turned his back on her when she had done the unthinkable.

Officially, she had done no soul-consuming and had been placed on leave due to her grief, but among the death scythes, and many people close to her who guessed at the truth, she had become a pariah. Spirit, with all his philandering, had stuck by her.

Auriel swallowed again. "And what does this rehabilitation entail?"

"I will assign you a partner, and you will work toward resonance with that individual," Death said, clapping his comically large hands. "And while you do that, you will be moved to a Soul Studies and Duel Arts teaching position to hopefully bring about the next generation of meisters and weapons to exceptional caliber."

"But I—" Auriel started, dropping her skirts and finally meeting Death's gaze. "The NOT classes, they…"

"Will have a replacement forthwith! Don't worry, literacy arts will not be neglected in either the EAT and NOT classes," Death interrupted.

"Who will be my replacement?" she asked, hands trembling.

Auriel's throat was dry, burning. She ached for a drink.

"Marie Mjolnir, you remember her?"

Of course, Auriel remembered Marie. The only other person who remained her friend after the incident. Her eldest sister, Cameel's, partner in Oceania.

"She and your sister will be returning from Oceania to take over the position. Azusa Yumi will be their replacement."

Auriel nodded along in shock at Death's proclamation, attempting to catch Spirit's eye to see if he knew anything about this, but he curiously would not meet her gaze now. Her heart was pounding in her throat. She wanted to leave, to drown the feeling away.

"And Dr. Franken Stein will be your rehabilitation partner!" Death cheered as though the idea delighted him and should please everyone else in the room too.

"Lord Death!" Spirit exclaimed, looking up to their god in shock. "You said—!"

"Hush, Spirit, I said I would consider all the options. Stein is the best suited for this task," Death said soothingly.

"You?" Auriel asked, hands trembling.

It was Spirit who told Death about the drinking? She hadn't expected that she had to admit. She hadn't been doing it long enough to develop a heavy addiction, but the amount she drank in front of him the other night must have given him reason for concern. The betrayal still stung though. And Stein? What was Death thinking, paring them together? He was mad and she was a wreck. There was no way they could achieve soul resonance, much less teach a class together.

"Auri, I'm—" Spirit started, but Death held up a hand to stop him.

"It's settled, Auriel. It's this or nothing, I cannot have you heading down this path any longer," Death said, his voice authoritative, so unlike the cheer from before.

Her spine stiffened, boots digging into the sand. "Fine."

There was nothing else to say. Not really. When her meister gave a command, she obeyed. When her god asked her to jump, she only need ask how high. When she was dismissed, she turned on her heel without a word and disappeared through the mirror. She didn't even say goodbye to Spirit, the traitor.

"Lord Death, you're really going to partner her with Stein?" Spirit asked incredulously. "After everything he did to me? You trust him not to hurt her?"

"I think you underestimate Stein, Spirit," Death said wearily. "He was very much in the wrong for what he did to you, I will admit that. But he has the capacity for good in him if his violent tendencies can be culled. And an experiment like this will challenge him. He needs something to focus on… I should have paired them together, to begin with, but Auriel had become infatuated with Michael – and he with her."

Death's voice trailed off in the near-empty space, much like an old man with too many ghosts coming to visit simultaneously. Too many questions to answer, too many mistakes to silence. Spirit could see the toll it took on him, but still felt resentful at the way this had turned out. He had only wanted to help Auriel – her grief was driving her mad and everyone knew it – but, as usual, his plan backfired on him.

"You don't think they will drive each other to madness?" Spirit asked, his hands shoved deep in his pockets so Death did not see their trembling.

"It is a possibility… but one I am prepared to face," Death conceded. "Auriel trusts you as a friend. An apology will fix everything between you right up, I'm sure. You will keep an eye on both of them, as will Marie and Cameel. Report back to me often?"

Spirit sighed, adding another strike of betrayal to his friendship with Auriel.

"Yeah, sure."

Stein didn't think any place could be more uninviting to a normal person than his lab, but Auriel Saint's apartment rivaled it. Oh, it was well decorated, she and Michael Crowley could not be said to have been lacking in taste, even if it was a bit – for lack of a better word – opulent. There was not a single thing out of place save for a single set of dishes in the sink that had remained untouched for years - blackened with mold, a black jacket tossed over the back of a chair – both covered in a thick layer of dust and a few other articles he assumed belonged to Michael before his death left out as though they were just waiting for him to come home and put them away. The whole space was untouched, save for the layers of dust that Auriel had clearly made paths through. It was as though she lived in a mausoleum. A memorial to her dead and departed lover.

There was a madness in such devotion… it made him want to—

Click

Click

Click

Stein shook his head and pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips but refusing to light it. If this was a mausoleum, he could respect it and not burn the cigarette inside. Even if he didn't understand it.

When Auriel emerged from the back bedroom, her bottle-green eyes were bloodshot and reddened. Her powder pink hair was pinned up haphazardly beneath a black fascinator and while her black blouse and skirts were clean, they were rumpled as though they had been slept in. According to the rumors he had heard, she had not worn a stitch of color since her twin brother died of a regular, human illness not long before Michael was killed by the witch. It seemed that the rumors were true.

He had also heard that she hadn't been used as a weapon since consuming Michael's soul. Death had told Stein that himself. A weapon that had consumed her meister's soul… A wicked grin threatened to overtake Stein's face and he pushed up his glasses to disguise it. She would make an interesting experiment, even if he wasn't allowed to dissect her.

"Do you need help carrying anything?" he asked, his hands deep in the pockets of his trousers.

Her bleary eyes fixated on him, narrowing. "Like you give a damn."

Bleary. Swaying. Spirit had been drunk enough around Stein for him to know the signs.

He allowed himself to grin at her then. "I don't, but I thought I'd offer anyway."

Auriel stared up at him, as though she wished to cut him open and see all his moving parts – or perhaps Stein was projecting. She was a tall woman, a few inches shy of six feet without her heeled boots, but he still towered over her like he had when they were children.

It had always pissed her off. He had enjoyed pissing her off. She was always so devoted. It was disgusting. It was illogical. It was maddening.

Click

Click

Auriel blinked up at him again, and he smirked. Sighing, she grabbed her two suitcases under one arm and a rolling trunk with the other. If anything could be said for her, it was that she was strong, and Stein didn't care enough about his public reputation to allow him to offer his help once again.

When they exited the apartment, she placed her belongings down and locked the door behind her. Death had allowed her to keep her apartment should something happen and this little experiment not work out. At least that was what he said. Stein suspected that it was because he didn't want to force the flame sword into further depression by making her give up her crypt.

She was a morbid little creature.

Stein had remembered when she first came to DWMA. Frizzy pink hair and eyes so wide he daydreamed of plucking them out and preserving them. She had been obsessed with death and reaping – probably stemming from the same obsession her people had with death. She came from a mountain region on the southeast side of the USA. Mountain folk, versed in the old ways and revered death as an old friend. Her accent was soft, the vowels drawn out and pronounced in such a way that put one in mind of cold iced tea and sticky humid afternoons.

Another fascination.

He wondered, when he was younger if it was her pink tongue that poked out of her mouth when she was concentrating that made her words sound so funny. He later understood that it was a regional dialect, but it hadn't made him any less interested in cutting her tongue out to study it.

Her three siblings were the same. All weapons and meisters alike. They shared the same morbidities, the penchant for mostly black old-fashioned clothes, the same obsession with death, and the same accent that other students poked fun at.

Azrael had taken a liking to him, saying he was named like his favorite author's book. Stein always regretted that he couldn't do anything to save Azrael, as the boy had been nothing but kind to him, but Auriel had always blamed him for her twin's death. She claimed – after Spirit and his girlfriend had come to Death with their evidence – that Stein must have dissected her brother's lungs and that was why he had passed away. He never denied it, but it wasn't true. Stein had no desire to take Azrael apart like he had other people. He couldn't explain it, but the gentleness of the other boy made him an unappealing test subject.

His sister on the other hand…

"Do you mind if I bring some of my furniture?" Auriel asked when they neared his lab.

"I'm indifferent, as long as it's not in my way," he replied, taking a drag on his cigarette.

"Spirit says your place is a bit bare-bones."

"He'd be correct."

She hummed a response, eyeing his stitched-up lab with a curious gleam in her unfocused green eyes.

"You talk to Spirit often?" Stein asked, taking another drag while he unlocked his door.

"I teach his daughter, and he's…" Auriel paused. "I ain't sure if I should call him friend still since this is all his doing, but he's been one of my best friends for years now."

That was surprising. Stein might have to wear glasses now that he was older, but he wasn't blind. And he especially wasn't blind as a hormonal teenager. The fact that Spirit hadn't dared to destroy his friendship with a very pretty girl over an attempt to get his dick wet was astounding to Stein, to say the least.

"Huh," was all he replied.

He waited in annoyance for the gasp of horror that always came when someone besides Lord Death, or his now deceased mentor, entered his dwelling but none came. Instead, Stein saw that same morbid curiosity he had seen in her eyes the first time he had met her.

Death had assigned them together for a reason. Stein assumed it was to curb his madness – something he had been trying to do himself for years now – but now he wasn't so sure. Perhaps his arrogant God was a bit more like him than he thought. Itching to watch the variables play out between Stein and Auriel. Madness and devotion. Insanity and grief. Itching to see if they would take each other out, or become something more powerful than anyone could imagine.

God surely was selfish.

"Stein… I mean… well shoot, what do I call you now? Doc?"

Stein lit another cigarette. The way she said his name was so interesting like Azrael had – they both said it the same way, they were twins after all. But where her brother's voice was harsh and raspy due to his weak lungs, his sister's was soft and warm. Like the honey dripping through his fingertips when he busted open a beehive to see what was inside as a child. She said it soft and slow, the 'ei' pronounced like the "ah" sound a person made with a tongue depressor down their throat. Drawn out.

He thought of pulling her tongue between his thumb and forefinger and—

Click

"I don't particularly care what you call me," he said.

"Well, I got to call you somethin'," she shot back.

"I don't care."

"Well, that's kind of a mouthful, dontcha think? Ah, whatever. I'll just call you, Doc."

He led her through his maze of a lab to the back where his own barely used bedroom was. He had emptied a dissection chamber at Death's behest and even scrubbed it free of blood. All that was left were four gray walls and a concrete floor. He wasn't hurting for space and had other places to conduct dissections.

He watched her, the smoke from his cigarette wafting skyward. She stood in the middle of the room, suitcases, and trunk at her sides. Her face was blank, shoulders stiff, hands balled into fists in her skirts. But her soul… it was wrong. It was like it had folded in on itself, and it was so dark and cold – a shadow folded over it protectively, shielding the brilliance that used to be there.

When they were children, Stein remembered that Auriel's soul had been one of the brightest, warmest, he had ever encountered. The change was interesting. Was it because she consumed Michael's soul? Or was it something else?

Her God had disappeared, had failed her, leaving her a husk but her devotion never wavered.

Click

Click

Click

Abruptly, Auriel turned and brushed past Stein, headed toward the front door. But he didn't miss the way she shuddered. Disgust filled him. They could never make this work if she was afraid of him. Fear held him back. It was useless.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked mockingly. "Scared I'll dissect you?

She paused before turning the corner. Her eye caught his over her shoulder, sadness dripping down the edges of her soul.

"No, I'm afraid because I honestly don't care if you do."

Her words hung between them, heavy and daunting. Almost uncomfortable if Stein could bring himself to care enough to feel it.

"I've got to go get a few more of my things. I'll be back soon," she said finally.

And then she was gone.

Stein exhaled, long and slow, watching as the smoke in his lungs drifted lazily toward the ceiling. What exactly was Death playing here, sending Auriel to be his weapon? Did he want them both to descend into insanity? Because that was the topmost outcome Stein could see playing out. Death truly was a fickle god.

Auriel returned later with a bare mattress, a bag of books, and her work bag, then left again without a word. She wanted to speak to Stein as little as possible. There would be enough time for that torment tomorrow when they taught their first class together. Besides, there was no way Stein had any food in his cupboards. Spirit said he exclusively ate take-out when he remembered to eat at all.

At least he didn't lock up little kids and cannibalize them like some people around town suggested. Stein might be… mad, but he wasn't a monster. At least, not that sort of monster. Azrael had insisted that he was just misunderstood; that Stein just needed a good friend and some guidance. Then his lungs gave out, and deep-down Auriel knew Stein wasn't responsible. But she needed someone to blame. Either he could have fixed her brother, or he attempted to do so and killed him.

In both scenarios, Stein was the guilty party. He had to be.

This was a punishment most cruel from Death, forcing her to live with Stein, to give up drinking, to resonate with Stein's soul. She didn't think she could do it, but there was no other alternative. It was this or nothing. And when Death said 'nothing' he meant nothing. Auriel would cease to exist. Her weapon status would be revoked. She would be reaped.

Would that truly be so bad? Would it? We barely live now as it is.

"Shut up."

An elderly lady in the aisle with her jumped, startled at the harsh snap of Auriel's words. Sighing, she plastered on her prettiest smile and apologized.

"I'm sorry," she tapped her ear where an earpiece sat snugly in her ear. "I'm on the phone."

The woman, clearly relieved, smiled back at Auriel and continued shopping. But Auriel felt her soul sink into her toes, her composure as brittle as obsidian glass.

Michael deserved more than to be reaped because of her incompetence as a weapon. No, she would be Death's scythe, be Stein's partner, and instruct the EAT students to the best of her ability. She had been a great death scythe once; it was nothing doing.

Auriel didn't announce her return to Stein's patchwork lab. Its odd angles, spires, and carefully stitched architecture reminded her of the gothic churches she visited with Azrael when they had partnered together for a time. They had always been infatuated with such structures, and it helped that those old buildings often housed the souls they were meant to reap.

The lab was quiet when she entered using the key Stein had given her when he came over to pick her up at her apartment. He hadn't been much help, so curiosity had to be the motivation behind the uncharacteristic gesture. Eventually, she found the kitchen, setting her bags down with a sigh.

It was a mess of equipment and numerous spills of questionable substances all over the counters and floor. If she could get this cleaned up, it would be the size of a small industrial kitchen. Auriel felt the pull of excitement in her chest to be cooking again after all this time of not daring to touch the kitchen in her apartment. But it died quickly. Stein wouldn't care about her food, perhaps he wouldn't even eat it at all. That didn't hurt, but it was sad to know she would still be eating alone after all this time.

The fridge came first. Empty, save a few cans of beer, as expected. It was quickly disinfected and filled with meat, dairy, and fresh produce. The pantry was neat but filled to the brim with specimen jars. She shut the door with a decisive click. The cupboards would suffice for now. Soon, those were dusted, and cleaned, and any dishes inside were piled into the sink for washing – which Auriel tackled next.

The linen closet in the hall contained surprisingly clean towels, a mop, and a mobile cart. She used the cart to pile up all the test equipment – which was covered in dust and grime, so clearly not in use for a while – and wheeled it into the pantry, which she would clean later if she needed the distraction.

Who was she kidding? She would need the distraction.

Once the dishes were dried and organized, the counters and floors sparkling, and the rest of the groceries put away Auriel turned to cooking her dinner, sipping from a bottle of cheap whiskey she had purchased at the corner store on her way back to the lab. The young man behind the counter had warned her away from the direction she was headed, but she had only saluted him and sauntered off.

If she was in any danger, then so be it.

"What are you doing?"

Auriel froze, watching as the onions in the pan on the stove began sizzling in earnest. Placing the whiskey bottle down on the counter, she turned to face her new housemate. Annoyance burned within her when she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.

"Cookin'," she said.

"Why?" Stein asked.

"I'm hungry," she replied.

Stein's eyes took in the sight of her, hair now pulled back severely on top of her head – fascinator long gone – and her sleeves rolled up past her elbows. Flour dusted the scar along her left cheekbone and the front of her blouse, picking up the details in the black lace. Her eyes were red and even blearier than earlier. Her body was positioned in front of the counter to hide it, but Stein had seen Auriel sipping from a bottle before he announced his presence. She was drinking again. Highly functioning then, if she had gotten this space into any semblance of order in an hour, and to begin preparing a meal.

"Want any?" she asked, turning back to the stove, and placing the cap back on her bottle.

She shoved it to the very back of the counter, attempting to hide it in the shadow. Stein had always been cold and hard, but mocking had never been something that was beneath him. Auriel knew he would think her weak, and that was shameful to her.

"What is it?" Stein asked, leaning to look at the pot.

He really just wanted to get close to her – to get under her skin. It had been so long since he had a partner, and he had nearly forgotten how amusing it was to bother people.

"Chicken n' dumplins," she said as she poured chopped celery and carrots into the onions.

Then a heap of minced garlic and a few spoonfuls of flour. Next came the bone broth and seasonings. The chicken was pre-roasted at the butcher's shop, but it was easier to shred that way, instead of waiting a whole hour or so for it to cook. After it was stirred in, and the soup began to thicken, Auriel dropped in her dumplings – flour, milk, butter, baking powder, salt – and placed the lid on top for them to steam.

All the while, Stein stood next to her and watched silently. He noted each time her fingers twitched toward the bottle of whiskey, each shaking breath she took, the trembling of her hands. She was weak. Pathetic even. How disappointing.

Auriel knew she was shameful; he didn't even have to say it. If she looked into his cold green eyes, she knew she would find contempt there. Instead of reaching for the bottle again, she went to the cupboard, grabbed a glass, and filled it to the brim with tap water before draining it.

"Never did answer my question, Doc," she said, placing the glass on the counter.

Her arms wound around her, crossing over her chest.

"Not hungry." He grinned at her.

"No matter." Auriel shrugged. "You can eat it if you want, or don't, makes no difference to me. Just let me know if you do; I was planning on taking some to work for lunch."

Stein just tilted his head at her, still smiling.

Auriel rolled her eyes and turned to find herself a bowl and spoon. Her supper would be done soon, and she intended to dine alone in her spartan bedroom.

"How much have you had to drink today?" Stein asked.

His tone was delighted, as Death's had been when announcing her 'rehabilitation'. Auriel placed her dish and spoon carefully on the steel countertop and exhaled slowly through her mouth. Of course, he would know. She expected he would. Death wouldn't have kept that a secret from her new partner. It was still frustrating, humiliating, that Stein of all people knew this poorly kept secret.

"I'm quitting tomorrow," she said without turning to face him.

"Sure," he laughed. "Now, your turn to answer the question."

Auriel's mouth screwed up, her eyes squeezing tight. In reality, she had been hungover when Stein came to get her this morning. The whiskey had been her only vice today. She told him as much, voice flat and emotionless. He did not respond.

When she turned around he was still there, reading the label on her whiskey bottle. It looked so small in his hand. Auriel wanted to snatch it away and drain the bottle dry, but she still had her pride. Still, she couldn't help the whimper that escaped her when Stein flicked the cap off the bottle and dumped the contents down the drain. Then repeated the process with the four beers in the fridge.

"Death," Stein sneered the word. "Said I am to keep you sober, so. You're quitting today."

Auriel blinked, tears welling in her eyes. Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, rings biting into her palms where they had twisted wrong. Her color was high – she could feel it – and her chest heaved against her corset, but she did not cry. She wouldn't.

The lump in her throat was driven back with the force of her swallow. "Okay."

"Okay?" Stein asked.

Had he been expecting a fight?

"You're the meister," she said, shoving past him to dish out her food.

"Disgustingly obedient as always," he remarked.

"You know me so well, Doc," she snapped sarcastically. "I gotta quit some time. Death wants it done; you dumped my drink. No point in crying over it. Nothing obedient about that."

Besides, she had a few sips left in a bottle of gin hidden inside her trunk. If this was her last night, she wasn't saving it any longer.

Stein said nothing as she swept from the kitchen – food and water in hand. When Auriel reached her bedroom, she shut and locked the door behind her. Setting her food down on her hard leather suitcases, she tore through the trunk with trembling hands and a racing heart. The bottle was still there. Carefully, she pulled it from where it lay nestled in her bedsheets and drank it dry.

The gin burned its way down her throat, but it eased the pain somewhat. Quitting wasn't going to be easy, especially since she didn't want to quit. Death was forcing her hand. Quit and live, or don't and be reaped. The choice was simple.

By the time Auriel rose to eat her food, it was barely warm, but she devoured it hungrily. Then put her sheets on her mattress. Neither smelled like Michael anymore and she wondered if they would smell like smoke now, instead of sandalwood. Regret washed over her as she saw the empty gin bottle lying on the floor. She should have saved some of it.

Gingerly, she picked it up and placed it on the windowsill. It would sit and judge her for her weakness. Her mama had always warned her about the demon drink, but Auriel had not heeded her mother's wisdom. And now she would suffer for it.

As she drifted off to sleep, the sounds of the patchwork lab settling and her new partner banging around became a twisted lullaby. Tears dampened her pillow that she wasn't even aware she was crying. And when sleep found her, Michael came with it, his brown eyes blazing with disappointment.