Work Text:
The Bringer of Death
Written by TomstheFox on Twitter and AJtheFox on AO3
Sweat dripped down his face as he knelt under the sun, hands dirty with mud as he pulled the carrots from the ground. His green robes were dirty, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a green and white striped hat sitting atop his golden hair. The carrots were placed in a basket, extras replanted, before he stood up, sandals digging into the ground. As he turned, he was startled by a strangled voice calling out, “Phil!” Turning his head, he saw a crow sat atop his nearby cottage, feathers ruffling as it called out his name again.
Phil sighed, a smile gracing his lips as he recognized the crow. A few had been coming around his cottage in the recent weeks, the group seeming to grow in number every day. He reached out a hand and the crow flew down, landing on his finger. “Are your friends on their way?” Phil asked the bird, setting down his basket and using his other hand to gently stroke the birds feathers. It cawed in response, ruffling its feathers again and turning its head.
Following the crow’s gaze, Phil saw a group of black crossing the horizon, shape shifting ever so slightly. He chuckled as the murder of crows all flew near him, landing on the ground, the fence posts, and the roof of his cottage. “There’s more of ya every day, hm?” he said softly, letting the crow on his finger flutter to the side as he bent to pick up the basket of carrots. He was quick to place it inside, returning with a loaf of bread which he crumbled up and scattered for the birds. They were kind birds, never going after his food unless he offered it, so he didn’t mind having them around.
The Bringer of Death stared at the man, looking through one of her faithful crow’s eyes. Her heart fluttered as she watched him. It was hard to look away. She longed to meet him. Her time as The Bringer of Death would be coming to an end in the next few years. Perhaps he could be the one to take on her legacy. Leaving the sight of her crow, she shifted in a ruffle of feathers, form shrinking to match one of her own crows, and she took flight.
Perched on the rooftop, The Bringer of Death’s head tilted, watching the man as he fed her crows, bread crumbs scattered in the grass. She was the only crow still sitting on the rooftop, and Phil turned his head to her. “Come on, aren’t ya hungry?” he asked, holding up a handful of bread crumbs. The Bringer of Death swooped down, landing on the fence post next to Phil. She ruffled her feathers and shook out her head as she shifted, crossing her legs as she sat on the fence post, large black wings shaking themselves out behind her as she ran a hand through her void black hair.
Phil yelled out in shock, falling backwards as he looked at the woman? Bird? in front of him. His heart raced and his breathing shook as his eyes widened. The Bringer of Death laughed, a light, angelic sound that did not seem to fit her demeanor. “I’m terribly sorry that I scared you,” she said, her voice gentle as she stood and held out a hand to him. “I just couldn’t wait any longer.” Phil swallowed and took her hand, pulling himself up. He fixed his hat, voice shaking. “Wh-what..you...who are you?”
“You can call me Kristen,” The Bringer of Death replied, smiling softly at Phil.
Months passed and The Bringer of Death visited Phil every day. They grew close, and soon The Bringer of Death resided in Phil’s cottage alongside him. Hugs and kisses were exchanged, time was spent only by each other’s side. After a year, a ring adorned both of their left ring fingers. The two were in love, and couldn’t be happier.
They had a son after two more years. The Bringer of Death suggested the name Wilbur, and Phil couldn’t find any other name that suited his boy more.
Three more months passed and The Bringer of Death was growing weak. Her hair was graying, her feathers starting to fall. She knew her time was coming to an end, but she assured her lover that she would be okay. That this was a normal thing to happen to her kind. Phil, of course, believed her.
Until one day, when The Bringer of Death could no longer leave her bed, and she held her lover’s hand in her own. Tears fell down her cheeks as Phil kissed her head, eyes filled with worry. “Don’t worry, my love,” she whispered, voice hoarse. “I’ll always be with you.” Phil rested his forehead on hers, tears starting to fall as her body dissipated before him. He couldn’t understand what was going on.
Light surrounded him and he covered his eyes, only opening them once it was gone. His body shook as he saw the bed was now empty, nothing but a few feathers laying where his lover once laid. He cried out, dropping to the floor, as two large, black wings erupted from his back.
He knew now what she was. And he knew now what he was. He cried and he cried, for he missed his lover still. He wanted her to come back to him, though he knew it would never happen. Not until his time came to an end as well.
A cry came from the other room, and Phil wiped his tears to rush to his son’s crib. He lifted the small child into his arms, cradling and rocking the boy softly. He would be grateful that his son was so young, for he wouldn’t be grieving the loss of his mother as Phil would. Placing a kiss on his son’s forehead, he held him close. “I promise I’ll be with you, Wil,” he whispered. “And mama is here too.” His wings wrapped around himself and his son as he rocked the boy, never wanting to let go of what he had left.