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She had promised to give them time, and Death was never one to renege on her promises. So she stayed away, hoping that if she could forget about the little family they had made she wouldn’t have to do the one thing she couldn’t bear. But Nicholas’ cries followed her wherever she went, the wails of her son a reminder of her unfinished task. One night when the cries were particularly insistent, she decided she couldn’t take it anymore. She crept to the campsite Agatha had made, trying desperately not to frighten her former lover. As she got closer, she found the two of them huddled around a barely smoldering fire, Nicky crying in a makeshift crib as Agatha slept fitfully beside him. Even as she slept it was obvious that the witch was ill, her face pale and drenched in sweat. Without thinking, Rio made her way to the child and pulled him into her arms, the babe instantly soothing in her embrace. Then she knelt next to her lover, pushing a stray strand of hair from her clammy forehead, healing her as best she could. At her touch, the witch soothed, her face relaxing. Still holding her son, Rio sat down next to the sleeping body, admiring the boy’s face in the dim light of the fire. It was the first time she had been able to truly see him. He was perfect, more beautiful than she could have ever imagined. But he was still the son of Death and would soon have to come home to his mother. Rio sat there for a while, soaking in the time with her sleeping family as best she could. She finally got up to leave as the first rays of dawn began to peek through the trees around them. She set Nicholas back in his crib and gave him a kiss on the forehead, then turned to Agatha and did the same. It may not have been what they hoped for but for now, their little family was happy.