Page 14 of At The End There Was You

“How agreeable.”

She shrugged and Azriel’s smile completely wiped off. “Don’t shrug ever again.”

Winter could swear her shoulders almost froze and fell off after his words. “Where do you think I could start?”

“It is your task. Why take the fun out of it?”

Fun? “You even know that word?” Winter muttered as she turned to search the vast corridors of the library. Her feet stopped when a dark chuckle filled the empty space. Carefully, as if she was about to scare a poor animal off, she turned her head and watched him.

“Winter,” he called.

“Yes?”

“Why are you looking at me? Am I your task?”

Yes, she wanted to say. I’d rather attempt every moment for the next four days to say or do something smart or funny and see if it can make you laugh again. It seemed harder than fighting Death, after all. “No, of course not.”

“Of course not,” he repeated, nodding to himself. “Then again, you’re not stopping, are you?”

Red hot embarrassment climbed to her neck, face, and ears, and she turned on her heels, almost running off towards the dark end of the library guarded only by dust, friendly spiders and odd fiends who’d clung to the stories more than the ink they were written with. When the letter ‘D’ came in sight, she slowed her step and began reading the tilted tiles one after the other, searching for the mention of him. As she pulled a few books in her arms, the question drummed louder and louder. For a moment, she could almost swear the darkness of the library echoed back. Why was Death angry at them? Why was he angry at all? Was she wrong to think he was angry? She didn’t know much about Death, she didn’t know much about the God of Life either, but the first had never interested her while she had sworn to serve the second when she wore her robes and abandoned whatever life she’d had before.

With a sigh, she pulled another book, forgetting the weight of the ones she already had in her hands, and dropping it to the ground. Afraid she’d damaged it, she carefully lowered the others to the ground and reached to pick the one that had dropped. Her hand stopped when she noticed the page that had fallen open. Though what she saw was nothing gnarly or ugly or terrifying, she shivered when her eyes fell on the dark drawing of Death. A bony creature veiled in black torn robes and with bright red gleaming eyes stared back at her. “Would he laugh if I said you’re angry because you’re ugly looking?” she whispered to the drawing.

“Yes.”

She screamed and then caught herself on the first loud note, slapping a hand on her mouth when she noticed Azriel leaning against a shelf, taller than any shadow on the library and just as terrifying. “Really?” she whispered, still breathing a bit hard from the scare.

Azriel cocked an eyebrow, seemingly confused.

“You said you’d laugh.” She picked up all the books she’d gathered and stood. “You’re not.”

He tucked both hands in his pant pockets. “If you’d not screamed at me, I might’ve.”

Embarrassed, she sprinted past him and towards the table, lowering the books and diving face first into them. She didn’t need to force her concentration on her task like she thought she would have when he returned to his seat, something else entirely enveloped Winter as she read about Death. “They are brothers,” she said, voice low, but he’d heard her.

“They are,” Azriel answered disinterestedly.

Life and Death were brothers.

Life was weaved with golden threads and Death with ones made of shadows.

When both had bestowed gifts upon the realms, Life had offered all that he was, an endlessness of it. That was until it had been Death’s turn to bestow his. Unlike his brother, he’d refrained himself from offering the endlessness of his own power. Could that be why? Because he went against his nature and did not take entirely, because he did not devour life wholly like he was meant to?

“Read something you do not like?” Azriel asked.

Winter’s attention snapped to him, her cheeks heating when she noticed him leaning back in his seat and watching her. Had he been looking at her for long? “Was he forced into not giving the realms like his brother was?”

“No. Whatever amount of his gift he bestowed was adequate to him. No matter how much of it he gave, everything would result in death. In the end, he always won.”

That word surprised Winter. She did not know Death, knew very little of him, too, but would he consider that a win?

He cocked his head back, staring down at her. “You did not like that either.”

“Whether I like it or not doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” he simply said, pushing his glasses back with a finger. “But whoever told you what you want, think, crave, desire, like or dislike doesn’t matter, certainly had you well convinced enough to make you believe it, too.”

“But it truly doesn’t.”