Cotard and I Alone
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You thought, perhaps, in another life—free of your shackles and chains—he would find no interest in you. Chasing death, or death chasing him, you would not have run across each other. Before judgement, or after, his soul would have been claimed; a stack of stories, a patient to someone else. Regardless, where your fate landed you, intertwined with his, he was placed within your grasp, in the very end.
Series
- Part 1 of Cotard and I Alone
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When he slammed the door shut on his old life, violently, and started anew, you were right there behind him. His shadow. His anchor. You followed him through the rain until he was able to rest his feet for a bit.
In a large fishing vessel, too big and too cramped, in the blanket of the night, he shot up in bed and grabbed the gun from beneath the pillow.
Series
- Part 2 of Cotard and I Alone
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He got a hold of your scythe, once. It was an ugly thing—but he sure didn’t think so. Not with the way he looked at it. Not in the way he wanted it.
“In the last few years, I’ve seen my fair share of death. But I’ve never seen you guide any of their souls,” he tilted his head in your direction but his eyes still trained on the crescent blade. “Do you still take—” here, his lips split, like he already knew the answer before he even asked: “—or is mine the only one you care about?”
Series
- Part 3 of Cotard and I Alone