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She was once the sun. Before turning into the moon, she burnt to ash. Even then, the grief symphonies in her soul continued to chime. For she never expected, her reaper to ever die.
Not in its literal sense of bodily dead. The apprentice of death did indeed return but only after she could escape the endless void of the galaxy--The realm beyond physical and metaphysical.
The two met again during the time when both had lost their thoughts.
This time, it was the sun who somewhat remembered. The reaper did not, completely.
The symphony of grief turned the sun's fire into blue. It was a matter of color at first before her blaze turned to burning frost.
Blight began engulfing her phoenix being. Her orange feather fell off, burning her flesh out to her very substance of white skull.
She sat on that one pedestal where she used to stay and sang for the reaper--at the branch between the purgatory and afterlife.
Regardless of all things, the reason why her soul remained on auto-pilot, waiting above that turning-ancient pedestal, was her naivety that her reaper would return soon.
Souls continued to pass over her and her ancient pedestal for who knew how many eternities. She listened to the stories of those passing away and showed them the correct direction toward the afterlife.
Before she knew it, the sun had become equal to the being she constantly missed, she became the new death. Soon, only her skeletal body remains.
She once woke up to a little wandering soul. The little soul's pink hair triggered nostalgia in the new death's memory.
It was by then that her grief symphonies stopped. She took the little soul under her now non-existent wings.
That little soul with pink hair shall become the new death's first apprentice.