Work Text:
“You know,” Phil began, sitting at the edge of the void, untroubled despite being so close to his demise. “I heard a saying, once. That ‘there are darknesses in life, and there are lights’. That things can be awful, but there are other things that can be good, too.”
“And where did you hear that, oh wise one?” Lady Death’s smile was clear in her voice, clear in the way she spoke fondly to the one she loved.
“I don’t quite remember. Don’t really remember not knowing it, either, so maybe it was in my childhood.”
“Ah yes, your childhood. A world of mysteries.”
“You know I don’t remember any of it,” Phil chided softly, smiling back. “Living forever is hard, there’s only so much my brain can hold.”
Living forever, huh? Do, tell me about it.” Kristin rested her head on her hands, smiling impishly down at the winged figure before her.
“Oh shut, Mrs ‘I was here since the dawn of time’.” Phil’s teasing was playful, and Kristin laughed, the sound echoing in the vast reaches of nothingness that surrounded the couple.
“Why did you bring this phrase up?” Lady Death asked once things had stilled somewhat.
Phil took a breath, looking out over the void once more before answering. “I was thinking about my lights,” he said, moving his gaze back to the goddess in front of him. “About the things that make my life worth it in the eternal hell Fate cursed me with. And I was thinking that you are one of the lights, the light of all lights, if you will. Bright enough I don’t need any other lights.”
Kristin smiled, but it was not simply a smile of mirth and happiness. There was grief in her eyes, a mourning for something not yet dead.
“You need other lights, Phil,” she warned gently. “A light that blinding is good for no one.”
“But why? You light up everything, there is no darkness when you’re around.”
Kristin simply smiled again, and the conversation moved on.
-- -- --
Love was difficult when one was immortal. The true depth of feelings was robbed, taken away just as one’s life was, hoarded by Fate for better or for worse.
That did not stop Phil, nor did it stop Kristin.
He loved her, loved her with his very being, with everything he had and everything he didn’t, he loved her.
He would visit often, peering over the ledge and into the void, throwing himself off and catching himself, soaring through the nothingness with her, because he knew how difficult it could be for her to leave her realm.
They were both immortal, but at least Phil had the freedom of powerlessness. Kristin did not, and thus, Phil became almost a messenger of sorts.
He brought her things from the overworld, from the mortal realm, from places Kristin could see only for moments lest she cause irreversible damage.
Stories, trinkets, bits and pieces lined his bag as he flew to meet the goddess. She treasured every one of them, and in return, brought Phil things from places he could never see.
Tales of the dead, stars that sat in her hands, birds crafted and given life from souls cheated by the power that oversaw all that was.
Kristin had her trinkets, and Phil had his birds. Each a reminder of their loves.
But there was a fine line between love and devotion. A line so fine many would say they were near one and the same.
Love was difficult when one was immortal, and the line was oh so difficult to see.
Lover turned messenger, messenger turned helper, and helper turned devotee.
Death struggled to exist on the mortal plane, she struggled to do everything she needed to and be everywhere she needed to be, she struggled to remain away from her rightful place. But her devotee did not.
The Angel of Death was a winged creature, humanlike in appearance, but near godlike in action. A flock of corvids followed wherever he went, as did whispers of horrors befit not even for hell itself.
He did not leave footsteps, but a trail of the dead. A trail of the decaying. He was untouchable, but his presence was soaked in blood.
No one knew if they should respect or fear him.
With each soul Phil brought Kristin, he felt his love grow stronger. He felt her love grow stronger.
He was not killing without cause, he was not killing without remorse. No, only those whose time had inevitably run out like sand through an hourglass did he release, only those who Fate deemed finished did he pursue and put to rest, only those who Death blessed did he return to the abyss.
Kristin thanked him for each one, telling him the stories of their lives, showing him their souls, sometimes even gifting him another bird, gifting the victims of the inevitable another chance.
Phil knew of the whispers that followed him, he knew the despair that descended whenever he entered a town. He knew the consequences of his actions, and yet, he did not stop.
For this was love. For Kristin was his light of all lights, for Kristin banished the darkness and Kristin was always there, through anything. There was no darkness if there was Kristin, even if their love was faulted from the start.
For immortals could not love as mortals do. For one like Phil was not supposed to exist in the void. For one like Kristin was not supposed to exist outside of it.
There was black at the tips of Phil’s fingers, on the end of his nose. A soot that did not cease no matter how hard he rubbed. It did not cease, only grew. Only crept its way onwards, turning him from human to something else, cloaking him in decay that had nowhere else to go.
It didn’t hurt. It didn’t even feel different. Phil paid it no mind.
Flowers began to wither when he picked them. Petals turning black, nectar souring, leaves crumbling to dust. There was beauty in their darkness, Phil thought, as he plaited them together into a crown for his love.
Death, and her angel. One devoted to the other, and the other devoted to one. Unstoppable, inevitable, all but bound to one another.
While Death ruled her realm, her angel dealt her wrath, with wings of void and blade of doom, with eyes of once warm skies now frosted with ice, with shadow of talons and the cry of a thousand carrion crows.
She was his light. His everything. Though he was bathed in the shadows, she illuminated every crevice, every corner and every crack. To her, he loved. To her, he was devoted. To her, he gave his everything.
But without darkness, there is no light.