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"Then what is it?"
"It's ... it's just too cold. I sleep better with the warmth of the fire to comfort me."
He's quiet for a long moment before he mutters something under his breath that I can't quite make out. Though the anger in his voice is clear enough to give me pause as peek up at him through my lashes.
He lets out a deep sigh, his dark eyes shifting to me briefly before he looks away again.
"I promise I will do something about that, at once," he says.
"It's really not—"
"I will not have you sleeping on the floor of my own home," he growls, cutting me off.
I swallow, my heart beating in my chest from the ferocity in his voice, unsure how to respond. His steps slow until we're left standing in the middle of the hallway, glancing at each other, but not fully meeting one another's gaze.
Embarrassment and shame mix within me as I realize that, yet again, I've found a way to offend him.
"I—"
"Thank you," I say, accidentally cutting him off and triggering another stretch of silence between us. Another grumble of displeasure rolls from him, and unable to help myself, I glance up at him. His eyes don't meet mine as they move over my body instead, causing heat to burn brighter within me.
"Your outfit," he says. "Forgive me, I should have realized sooner that you would require new clothing. I will see to it that you get some."
"Please," I start, my voice barely a whisper, "you needn't go through all this trouble for me. I've made do with far less and for far longer. You've already provided me with so much."
"Enough," he tells me, anger flashing in his eyes. "Your days of want are over, little one. You will want for nothing as long as you remain under my roof. Now, tell me, is there anything else you need?"
I have to bite back my refusal of his kindness, fearing that it will only make him more upset. He watches me intently, and I find myself unable to bear the intensity of his gaze.
“I-I don’t think so,” I answer.
Finally, with a sigh, he nods down the hall, and we continue on in silence. I trail a few steps behind him, risking small glances his way. I'm not quite sure what to think of his reaction, or how quick he seems to anger.
Suddenly stopping before a closed door, Death glances down at me.
"This," he says, opening the door for me, "is to be your studio."
I stare up at him in disbelief before stepping into the room. I inhale sharply as I take in the quality of the easels, pigments, oils, brushes, and everything in between. It's better than anything I could have imagined.
"Is it pleasing to you?"
"Yes," I breathe, moving deeper into the room. "I love it."
Running a hand over a collection of canvas, I turn to give him a smile, my heart full as I meet his gaze.
"Good. Remember, should you want for anything, you need only ask."
This is the kindest and most extravagant thing anyone has ever done for me. I don't know how I will ever be able to repay him for this, but I will try.
From the doorway, he watches me, his dark eyes shining just as bright as my own, and I suddenly understand his earlier reaction.
He wasn't angry with me, but with himself. I suppose I would be too, if I knew I could provide someone with such joy and comfort but failing to do so.
"Thank you."
He nods once, his hand still on the door handle, and I realize he's about to leave.
Without a moment's hesitation, I hurry toward him. He takes a step back, pulling back, but he's not quick enough. My arms wrap around him as I bury my face against his hard chest. He tenses, his arms held up on either side of me in surprise.
