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Realizing I’ve drawn even closer to him without thinking, I force myself to stop.
“Death?” I say, making my voice as soft as possible in an effort not to startle him.
His body stiffens for a moment before he slowly straightens to turn toward me.
My heartbeat quickens with sudden expectation before he catches himself. Reaching for the mask, his gloved fingers curl around it for a moment before he lifts it back to his face.
“Wait,” I say, the words leaving me before I can stop myself. “Please, let me see your face.”
He freezes, his hand still holding the mask to his face, and for just a breath, I think he will grant my request … but then his body hardens, and he dons the mask in one quick motion.
Disappointment settles in my stomach at this, but I do my best to hide it as he pulls the hood up over his head and turns to face me.
“You should not be here,” he says, his voice cutting me to my core.
I swallow past my emotions as I force myself to remain where I am.
He isn’t wrong. In fact, he has every right to not want me here. I’ve gone against every instinct, every facet of human decency, to enter his bedroom uninvited.
IknowI shouldn’t be here, but I cannot leave things the way they are between us.
“I’m sorry.”
He blinks at me, the shadows at his feet stilling momentarily as if I’ve just stunned him with my apology.
“I am sorry, truly,” I continue, using his silence to plead my case. “If I have offended you. If the painting offended you, I will change it. I will destroy it if need be. I only meant to show my gratitude—”
“No,” Death says, a strange edge to his voice that I haven’t heard before.
Closing my mouth, I wait for him to continue, but the stillness between us only grows heavier as he refuses to look me in the eye.
“Please,” I start again, when the silence is too much to bear any longer. “Please, tell me what I have done wrong so that I can fix it. I will give comfort where I have caused harm or reassurance where I have insulted. If only you will tell me.”
He lets out a bitter laugh. Turning his back to me for a second, he lets out such a terrifying roar into the swirling mists beyond that it has me flinching as I stumble back a step.
Spinning back to face me, his eyes are wild, his chest heaving, as silence once again stretches between us. His shadows rise and fall, twisting around him as his eyes search my face, and I can only begin to imagine what he’s about to say. The words he will use to tear into me and the painting he so clearly hates.
“You,” he starts, taking one step closer. “You have undone me.”
I blink up at him, unable to comprehend what his words mean. Is it possible that I misunderstood why he stormed off?
“I don’t—”
“You captured my likeness in a way no one ever has before,” he continues, the passion in his voice rooting me to the spot as he steps slowly toward me. “Through all my ages, I have never seen a more beautiful piece of art. And yet, beauty is too ugly a word to describe what I saw ... What Isee. You gave me a glimpse into your soul, and the purity that I saw within burned me to my very core.”
I must be misunderstanding him. I find it hard to believe that my painting could carry so much weight to it. Certainly, there must have been far greater artists, immortal even, who have captured his likeness better than I ever could.
“I’m afraid don’t understand.”
“You deserve so much more than death,” he says, closing the remaining distance between us as he reaches out to gently tilt my face toward him. “And yet, as things are, death is all that I am able to give you, Hazel.”
21
Hazel
The sound of my name on his lips leaves me breathless as I stare up at him, at a loss for words.
Taking a step back, my heart pangs with worry as I stare up at him. Is this his way of telling me that he means to go back on our deal?
