Chapter Text
Everyone dies eventually. Even the Endless. Even Death herself.
She does not die as Dream did, weary of her role. Neither is she slain as Despair was, nor does she tear herself apart like Delirium who was once Delight and is again. She dies nonetheless.
The hand that reaches out for hers in her final moments is not her own. The last face she sees is not a reflection, but a sister newborn. For an instant, neither one is Death: one about to die, one too young to know her role. The moment passes. Death is dead and Death remains.