Adalyn Grace

Because death is only a reprieve for the dead, Mr. Thorly. It cares little for those it leaves behind

Grief is a strange thing, Percy, for no two people experience it the same

You humans… you feel. You feel so deeply that it consumes you. There were humans I kept a watch over, though I would blink and they’d be fifty, sixty years older—and the time would come for me to meet them. For the longest time, I pitied them for their short lives. And I admit, Signa, that I have grown more callous with my age. But I have also grown to admire humans. They’ve such a short time to experience their lives, and so they must feel deeply

She’d spent years watching everyone she knew become ghosts—even those who were still living.

There’s a house in the woods
with an Arthurian table and a
never-ending charcuterie board.
This story is for those
I’ve sat with at that table,
who make writing feel
like magic.

This was spoken by a man who ignored how deeply Signa’s eyes unsettled him—one a winter blue, the other melted gold. Both too mindful for a newborn.

Death stood before her then, and the infant watched as he laid his hand upon Rima’s shoulder. With a final inhale, her corpse fell to the floor.

Death didn’t stop with Rima. He swept through the grand estate, collecting the poor souls whose faces purpled as their chests seized with uncooperative breaths. He tore through dancers and musicians, stealing their breath with a single icy touch.

Some tried to make it to the door, thinking there must be something in the air. That if they could get into the gardens, they’d be spared. One by one they fell like stars, only the lucky few who’d not yet tasted the wine able to make their escape.

The servant girl barely managed to get Signa into the nursery before she, too, fell, lips bleeding rubies as Death slowed her heart and cast her body to the floor.

Even as an infant, Signa was unfazed by the stench of death. Rather than stir from the panic around her, the baby focused instead on what no one else could see—the bluish glow of translucent spirits who filled the estate as Death plucked them from their bodies. Some went peacefully, taking the hands of their partner as they awaited an escort into the afterlife. Others tried to claw their way back into their bodies, or to flee from a reaper who did not give chase.

In the midst of it all, a dead and glowing Rima stood silently in Signa’s room, watching with a deep frown and vacant eyes as Death crossed the threshold. His footsteps made no sound as he approached the baby, his shape nothing more than ever-moving shadows. But Death did not need to be seen; he was to be felt. He was a weight upon the chest, or a collar buttoned too tight. A fall into frigid, lethal waters.

Death was suffocating, and he was ice.

And yet when he reached to collect Signa, who was full and settled with her mother’s poisoned milk, the baby yawned and curled herself against the touch of Death’s shadows.

He fell back, shadows retracting. Once more he tried to claim her, yet his touch did not show him flashes of the life this young child had led. It showed him instead something he’d never before seen—glimpses of her future.

A brilliant, impossible future.

His touch could not kill the baby he circled around, as confused by her as he was fascinated by what he’d seen.

Though Rima wished to stay—wished to wait for her child to join her—Death stepped back and offered his hand. To Rima’s surprise, she drew close and took it. “It’s not her time,” he said, “but it is yours. Come with me.” There were too many souls in need of ferrying to remain any longer. He’d be back, though. He would find this child again.

Hand in hand with Death, Rima’s spirit cast one last look at the baby they left behind, alone in a house with nothing more than corpses for company

Just as the night had begun with the cry of a baby, it ended with one. Only this time, no one was around to hear it

Had Signa been looking, she would have seen that Death’s shadows wilted. She would have seen that he reached out for her, only to draw back before she could reject him. She would have seen his shadows wrap themselves around Magda’s mouth, silencing the woman before she could say another cruel word.

“I never meant for this to happen.” His voice rang genuine. “Our time is limited, and I know that whatever I say right now, you won’t hear it. But I’m not your enemy. In two days’ time, I’ll prove it to you. Promise me you’ll wait here until then.”

Glad that if she was to be a monster, at least she could deliver mercy.