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He offers his hand to me as I move to get off the chair, and I accept, the frost of his touch mixing with the burning heat in my chest as he helps me down. He drops my hand the moment I’m safely on the floor, and I try my best not to show my disappointment.
Death follows me through the halls, his eyes trailing over the various paintings that now adorn his walls. Our pace is slow as he takes his time admiring each piece, his eyes sparkling through his mask as he stares at my work. Despite him not saying a word, my cheeks are sore from fighting back an ever-widening smile by the time we reach the kitchen.
The warm scent of cooked vegetables and herbs wafts up around us, and I instinctively turn to look up at Death. He gives me a gracious nod, his only acknowledgment that the aroma is as pleasing to him as it is me.
Warmth pools within me, my heart full, as I step toward the fire to check on the bubbling stew. Behind me, Death moves to settle on the same stool the first, and only other time that we shared a meal in here.
I ladle out two bowls of stew before reaching for the small loaf of bread I baked earlier in the hopes that he would return.
“Here,” I say, setting the bread and bowl of stew down next to him before returning for my own.
Settling onto the stool beside him, I watch as he dips his spoon into the steaming bowl. I can’t help myself, secretly hoping he’ll finally remove his mask to eat.
But he doesn’t.
He drops his head forward to allow him to slip the spoon beneath the mask without me seeing.
I have to reign in my disappointment yet again, as I turn my focus toward my own bowl.
A comfortable silence stretches between us as we eat. The stew is perfect and warms me from the cold wafting off Death. He seems content as he finishes his first bowl before standing and retrieving a second.
I can’t help the feeling of joy that fills me as I watch him help himself. I know that for a creature that doesn’t need food the same way that I do, him having a second bowl is high praise indeed.
As he finishes his second bowl, and I my first, I can feel the space between us growing heavier as he stares into his empty bowl.
“Why did you never mention the cruelty that you endured at the hands of your family?” he suddenly asks, shattering the silence between us.
His question startles me. It was certainly not one I thought he’d ever ask, let aloneknowto ask. Was it really that obvious from a simple visit to my home?
“I … Well, I didn’t think it was necessary,” I start. “They made my life harder, but it was nothing I couldn’t endure, for the sake of my Father’s happiness. He deserved to be happy. I wanted him to be happy, whatever the cost to my own.”
The shadows darken around Death, and I know he’s not content with my answer. When I finally brave a glance up at him, his black eyes are burning with a fire I’ve never seen in them before.
Swallowing down the fear that claws its way into my chest, I refuse to look away.
“Hishappinesscame at the expense of your own, and you were all right with that?” he asks, his voice thick with displeasure.
“You do not know the life we lived before … it seemed a small price to pay for me to see him happy again.”
“You alone should have been all the happiness he needed, Hazel.”
Again, the sound of my name on his lips has my heart skipping a beat and leaves me wishing I to hear him say it over and over again. And yet, his other words pain me.
I hate how desperately I wish they were true, but that isn’t how the world works. I was but his daughter; I could never bring him the intimacy our fragile hearts crave.
As much as he loved me, I knew that I was still a burden to him. Though he would never admit it.
When he brought Merelda into our lives, I know it was done out of love for me as much as it was companionship for himself. As foolish as his choice turned out to be.
“I do not see how that matters,” I finally say.
“How can you not?” he says, his voice growing sharper. “You sacrificed yourself for his happiness. You have spent your whole life in suffering, and no one cared to save you, let alone protect you.”
“It was my life to do with as I saw fit,” I answer. “I do not regret the choices I have made.”
“He is not worthy of your sacrifice. Your life was wasted—”
“Who areyouto judge me?” I retort, a fire suddenly flaring to life within me. “What is it that you do with your own life? What sacrifices have you made for the ones you love? If you’ve ever known love at all.”
