Death's Kiss - A Short Story

A very heartwarming moment shared by Death, their husband Sol and a faithful follower.

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Death's Kiss

The old lady lays motionless on the improvised bed. Her chest barely raising with each breath she takes; body so frail that is impossible to imagine that one day it was so full of life.

The bedroom is rustic and plain, but expertly well made. The wood beams used for support are as thick as a mortals' skull, made from petrified buckeye wood, there's no better material to be found in the region. The walls were built with stones fitted together like an oversized jigsaw puzzle, they completely isolate the not much warmer interior.

The wooden planks beneath your feet groan faintly, the whole house seems to breathe like a giant lung around you. The fierce winds assault the walls with unforgiving ferocity, but the structure will hold for as long as it is needed, you will make sure of that.

A young boy—her grandson you recall—tends to her paper thin skin, carefully rubbing soothing balm in places where the cold dry weather have ravaged the most. The month of Deepsnow is known for its frigid winds and spirit-shattering dry coldness, it is particularly unforgiving on the old and sick.

A fit of coughing racks the older woman's already frail body, the sound is hoarse and wheezy. The boy startles but he quickly grabs a glass of water from the nightstand and carefully brings to her cracked lips.

"He seems like a good kid." The words are whispered by the man standing next to you, the king of the gods, and your husband, Sol. Warm breath tickles the nape of your neck while his eyes remain focused on the pair. His tone is soft and hushed as if anything louder could shatter the eerie silence.

Sol stands by your side, so close you can feel his warmth radiating from his sun-kissed skin. It never ceases to amaze you how easy he's able to conceal his aura, at least from the humans, in his mortal form.

He has followed you here with the pretense of inviting you to one of your brother's famous parties, despite already knowing what your answer would be. The fact that he could have simply send the message through the connection you both share is not lost to you, but you don't have the heart to bring it up. Quaboth was probably the one to ask Sol to check on you, thinking you wouldn't be able to say no to him. He was wrong.

"He is." You answer in an equally soft tone, memories of the pair visiting one of your many temples every abyssday without fail over the years come to mind.

You watched from the shadows as the boy helped the elderly woman walk down the spiral ramp made specifically for the sick and old at your instructions. None should be barred from entering your temple, and the boy, true to your word, made sure his grandmother would be able to attend the weekly proceedings in your honor.

Behind the old lady, and her faithful grandson, you and Sol stand silently watching the pair, with both your divine auras and physical bodies hidden from the mortals' prying senses. As the boy goes to place the now empty glass on the nightstand the woman's milky eyes meet yours. Where you were expecting surprise you are only met with deep reverence. Her shaking hand reaches out in your direction, cracked lips stretching in a wistful smile. You feel Sol tense from the place he stands beside you.

"They can see us?" He whispers in your ear again, even though all your attention is focused on the pair before you, and the situation is nothing short of grim, you still feel a pleasant shiver traveling down your spine at his closeness.

"The dying can see me, don't worry." You know the king of the gods wouldn't take kindly in breaking one of his own precious laws. He shouldn't worry though, only your connection to the dying in strong enough that you can't keep your form hidden. "This remembers me of something. You can't hide your presence from babies, can't you? It's cute."

At your comment you can see from the corner of your eye Sol scratching bashfully at his cheek, the tips of his ears flushing comically. The sun god doesn't have the time to come up with a retort to your teasing before someone interrupts him.  

"Gael, I would like to rest a little now." The old woman says, gently touching her grandson's wrist. "Do me one last favor, go to your papa and tell him to come see me in a few hours, would you?" The young man seems confused at the request but quickly nods his head in acknowledgement.

"Alright, nana. I'll come back tomorrow morning to check on you. Love you."

"I love you too, my sweet boy." Her voice cracks with emotion, eyes going glassy for a moment, but she quickly recovers. "Now go play with your friends, they must miss you terribly."

Before leaving the boy kisses the woman's wrinkled forehead, he then makes sure that every window is securely shut and that the fire in the stone fireplace will burn for at least a few more hours, or until his father arrives.

The door to the room closes with grim finality. Milky eyes stare at you unblinking, they drink at your form with naked adoration. Throughout the eons many have looked upon you in the same way, and yet, every single time seems entirely unique.

For a few long beats silence reigns unmatched, only the angry sounds of the wind outside can be heard. It feels almost like sacrilege to break such silence, but her time has come.

You slowly approach the wooden bed, even your steps appear to respect the importance of the moment, remaining silent even when the floor beams strain under your divine weight.  "Ophelia, my dear child. It is time." The sound seems to echo across the room, snapping the sick woman from her staring.

"Y-you know my name?" Her voice breaks with disbelief and an emotion you can't identify, it draws a fond smile from you.

You gingerly sit beside her on the bed, careful to not disturb her already aching bones. "What kind of parent would I be if I didn't know the name of my most faithful child."

"Blessed Reaper, you honor me with your words, and your presence. I never dreamed to be worthy enough to be taken in your personal embrace."

"Now now, my dear." You gently take her bony hands into your cold ones. "If you are not worthy of my presence than I'm afraid no one else is." At that tears well up in her eyes, but they are not tears brought by sorrow for her souls sings in happiness.

Behind you, Sol's presence never truly fades. You can practically feel his golden eyes bask in the interaction between you and Ophelia, fondness and tender love tugging at his lips. Through the connection you both share he sends a wave of affection that warms your cold limbs, although you are still able to recognize the all so familiar feeling of heartache.

Soft whispers choose this moment to reach your ears, as always they foreshadow the reap of souls, or in this case, one specifically. You glance at Sol, silently conveying what you are about to do. You know he doesn't really enjoy this part, neither do you to be honest, the moment always carried a certain melancholy with it no matter the willingness of the soul to accept its fate.

Whenever your husband would keep you company during this moments he tried to stay as long as he could, but in truth he would have already left. He often used his godly duties as an excuse to avoid this situations as much as he could, but you didn't take away his reasoning. For every soul you reap he must kindle the spark of a new one. It is time consuming task, and a depressing one. But in the end he does something unexpected, he stays.

The phantasmal whispers, now coming from right against your ears, become more insistent in their quest to be listened and you have no choice but to obey them. "Ophelia, my child, I wish we had more time, but fate is as uncharitable as always."

"I know what happens now, I've done all I could for the ones I love and now I should rest. There's no higher honor than to give back to the world in this way, and I get to finally swim in the currents of the great river with my dear Erik, for eternity." She sighs wistfully, lost in memories of a time that her body wasn't so frail and feeble.

"I'm ready." She closes her eyes with comforting thoughts of a life led by love and faith, she has no regrets.

You also close your eyes. "He will be waiting for you." Leaning closer you meet her dry lips with your lifeless ones, and soon her hands that were gently resting in your hold go cold. Her shell is empty, her spirit now comfortably residing in you.

Sol's golden eyes can't hold their gaze for long, to witness such a scene feels like a breach of privacy of the highest level. His skin prickles all over as he tries in vain to suppress a full-body shiver, but he will remain vigilant while his love fulfills their duty, this time for as long as they need it.