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Could want me.
“Hazel,” he calls again. “I did not mean to upset you. Please, I simply … I simply wish that you would reconsider.”
“It’s a little too late for that, is it not?” I answer, knowing he will hear the bitterness in words despite the door between us. “My fate is sealed if I wish my father to live, is it not?”
His silence is all the confirmation I should need to know that I’m right. I should be furious that he’s trying to change my mind. I should know better than to think he actually cares.
For all I know, he’s simply trying to find a way to collect both my father’s soul and mine. For all I know, he’s pretending to care.
He isdeath.
Still, I find myself waiting with bated breath for him to answer. I hate that I want him to tell me that, no, my fate is not sealed.
“Yes,” he finally responds.
Biting back tears of disappointment that startle me, I swallow hard.
“Then go, and leave me to finish out my days in peace.”
“As you wish.”
A long moment passes before I hear his heavy footsteps retreating from my door. I hold myself still until I can no longer hear him.
Then I break.
Crumbling to the floor, my hands come to my face as heavy sobs rack my body. I curl around myself, drawing my cloak tighter as I let the tears come until exhaustion takes me
Sleep the only thing that finally soothes the agony of my heart.
24
Hazel
Clarity returns in the morning as I open my eyes to stare up at my blank canvas.
Sitting up, I know that I must do. I cannot leave things between Death and I as they currently stand.
I had not meant to sleep on the floor of my studio, but I did not have the energy or desire to drag myself to bed last night. Dragging my aching body off the floor, I move toward the door. Exhaustion pulls at me, I find myself having to lean against the wall to catch my breath.
I must have slept even more poorly than I thought.
Brushing the back of my hand across my forehead, I realize I’m sticky with sweat, my hair clinging to my face an neck.
I’m desperate to seek Death out, but not like this. I must bathe and change, and then go to him as quickly as I can before he finds a reason to leave.
Somehow, deep down, I know that he still here, walking the halls of his palace. I don’t know what to make of this feeling, but I decide some things are best left alone, and instead simply allow myself to be grateful for this strange knowing.
Opening the door to my studio, I stop short as I discover a parcel laying on the floor. Bending to pick it up, I find a note attached to a single marigold … just like the ones that grow in the garden at home.
I allow myself a moment to appreciate its beauty before opening the note.
If you are willing, put this on and meet me downstairs.
-D
I trace the single letter of his name, suddenly reminded of my wish to give him another, before turning my attention to the parcel in my arms. Carefully pulling loose the ribbon, it falls open to reveal an even more beautiful dress than all the ones I’ve been given so far.
It’s made from a silk so black it resembles wet ink, and I find myself thrilled at the prospect of wearing it.
