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The memories needed to be purged.
A strange sentiment, coming from the entity who has been, and would be, there for every mortals' final hurrah, until the universe itself turned to dust; Every soul, from the beginning of time… and every bit of knowledge that came with it.
It remained a source of joy for Death, to absorb everything presented to them like a sponge… until there was no one to share it with. Her siblings never held a common interest. Quite the opposite, at times.
See, Infinity and Eternity had already proven that they knew much already, things far superior to anything treasured by mortals. Mortal discoveries only proved to bore them, though Eternity was far kinder in shooing Death away.
Entropy, when they could actually be located, only cared to listen as long as it gave them fuel for chaos— and while Death adored her sibling, she was not the reckless one; Created to keep the order, it wouldn't do her well to speak a new apocalypse into existence before its time.
So she did the sensible thing.
Death grew a body of her own, the process keeping her far from them.
But she could still hear their whispers.
Her siblings thought her to be daft; laughed at the months it took to mold every tendon, the years it took to place every muscle. Every nerve, every vein: all apart of the fragile, soft shell for "the immortal who had no business being alive."
The moment she first wore it, she did so proudly. Yet her own kin circled like vultures, pecking her second skin apart bit by bit. Not with actions, but with words— each one landed like a blow from her own dagger, the unfamiliar pain twisting in her gut.
"A mistake," they'd jeer, "The cause of your own downfall—" Teeth bared and snarling, "You'll never be like them." But at each strike, each snap, Death's resolve only grew. She swore them off and turned her back. The last words cast down on her were from Eternity.
"There will be no help for you should you return."
But even then, there was no swaying her. There was a sureness to her walk once her feet hit the earth; something unshakable, because even in her flesh casing, Death simply was, and that was that. Nothing to argue with, nothing to contest. It wouldn't be difficult to understand.
And with her understanding of past millennia, the was no doubt that she'd find her place. It was odd at first, though. Even working so closely with these bipedal creatures, their mannerisms changed like the tides.
For her, it was a blink of the eye.
She struggled to keep up with new customs, new morals. Until she did.
Of course, despite it all, there were those that saw her as odd— a nameless woman, barefoot and dressed in drapery like never seen— and outcast her in an instant. Yet they were never crass or hateful, but firm in their judgment. She would not stay.
Others knew who she was under the fake-skin, and such the treatment was the same.
No one had a place for Death.
Simply put, it threw her further away from civilization, deep into the forest. An observer, never to interact with the masses.
Strays, however…
Those were the mortals who regarded her kindly when she approached, living and dead alike. Kindness for Death was by far a rarity. There was no forgetting that, and so she held each person close at the very forefront of her memory.
An old widower, wrinkled far beyond his time, had flashed his toothless grin in her direction like he'd seen a long lost friend. The maiden, who'd seen Death's nature far too much, always nodded politely as she passed. Heavily pregnant, a woman had resided with her for a few weeks— enough for Death to consider her a friend.
But mortals were fickle things. Aside from the initial wariness, there had never been such blatant hatred thrown her way. Though truly, Death didn't expect them to be any different.
Yet there was no preparation for how quickly they'd turn, and she experienced it first-hand… with her only friend.
Because while a newborn's soul cooed happily in her arms, its mother cursed and screamed as Death made her retreat— and hours later, at her friend's passing, all that was left to collect was the smell of petrichor and bite of empty air. The ghost was never found.
It was Death's first human heartbreak.
No closure, no last words of reconciliation. Just numbness. Confusion. Forced to protect herself from the unfamiliar pang, she hid herself away, continuing her work and healing the things that couldn't sting with words.
Until she met her.
Her Agatha.
Gods, that woman ruined her— inside and out… forced feelings to surface that Death didn't know she possessed, let alone express in return.
It was beautiful.
The flashes of memories— the way frost colored eyes glittered like gems under the light of a fire, the stories they'd share, the magic Rio taught… Every kiss… every touch— the pleasure filled romps in their newly built cabin, christening every available surface.
Nicky was going to be the best thing that happened to them: the three of them together— a family.
But she was not human.
She was not mortal.
Rio was not mortal.
Yet she gave herself a body anyways. Let herself fall in love anyways. Collected Nicky anyways. Suffered at a distance with her wife anyways.
She shouldn't have let it get that far.
Not when the heart she gave herself bled more each day, when Agatha only shoved the stake further. It was hard enough to take her child. Their child. It should've been a relief to take her wife— to reunite her family.
But Agatha was always a runner, and there was plenty of conjured road for her to do so.
Rio should've seen it coming from miles away.
"You let me go." A verbal slap in the face— a slap that shouldn't have hurt someone like her, yet the heart in Rio's chest sputtered while bile scorched her throat— in perfect time for the dread to rise alongside it.
"I want you to stop pursuing me."
Tears threatened to prickle in Rio's eyes, but she would not cry. She couldn't— not when those familiar blues bore into her soul with such frigid disdain.
"I want you to stop making my life hell."
The sword of Damocles hung overhead, strung up by a single, fraying, hair.
"And when I die…"
Threads unraveled at each passing syllable.
"A long, long, long, long, long time from now…"
All Rio could do was wait for the snap.
"I don't wanna see your face."
The blade should've killed her when it fell.
But Death would never be allowed that kindness.
Instead, she steeled herself, fighting every urge to let the flesh melt from her bones so her wife wouldn't witness a lip to tremble.
And when she turned, she didn't dare look back.
Her siblings met her despair with bits of their own, in ways unique to them. Nothing harsh, simply keeping to their nature; Though Entropy's inevitable "I told you so" pulled her nerves like strings, it was the closest feeling to home that she'd known in years…
Since Nicky's crossing.
For the first time since creation, Death curled up in her siblings arms and wept.
Only at first daylight did she proceed, leading new souls like times before. And Rio Vidal faded from existence, the skin and flesh withering permanently from view.
Yet the mark had already been made.
Her skeleton remained, yes— but in her chest cavity lay a newly crystallized heart, shining when caught by the light.
It wasn't the only reminder.
Life had been lived by Death, and time moved differently as a result. Slower. Her internal clock drudged on either way. Yet she grew bored, and boredom made the perfect host for wandering thoughts.
And every thought led right back to Agatha.
So she gave in.
Yet another mistake.
For the coven she'd collected, sans two, sat in Ralph Bohner's stolen living room. Only there was an extra soul, a boy with sharp eyes and dark hair, whose bones seemed to vibrate within their confinements.
The monstrosity's brother.
Death should've taken them both when she had the chance, but she'd grown weak and willing. Malleable at the hands of mortal's wishes.
Look where that got her.
Now the two boys sat, chatting excitedly in front of the hearth, and Agatha—
A lump formed in Death's throat at the sight.
Her wife leaned against Lilia, arm thrown across the other's shoulders.
A friendly gesture to anyone else, but she knew better. See, Death knew Agatha; Knew every move, every gesture, every deception. And that— the way that… vixen's thigh pressed firmly against the other's…
That was intentional.
Jaw squeezed together, her teeth gnashed to the point of pain.
She couldn't interfere.
Death was no longer a part of Agatha's life.
She'd just have to accept that.
That should've been when she turned and left, but human curiosity was hard to shake after living it. She couldn't find it in her to peel her eyes away.
Maybe she awaited the confirmation, the sick feeling that curled in her gut… all to tell her facts she already knew.
The kiss Lilia pressed to Agatha's cheek shouldn't have stung.
But it did.
She kept watching anyway.
Death observed until the very end, when moon sat high and the group began to disperse. The boys were the last ones there, hesitant to leave as if they'd belonged there from the start; Agatha stroked the sides of their faces lovingly as they left.
When the woman turned back to Lilia, it was all dark eyes and roguish grins from there— their faces leaned close as they talked, like two school kids behind the bleachers.
Agatha used to do that with her, Death recalled.
And the more she looked on, at every meeting of lips, at every gentle touch… the pull of hatred began to tug at her chain.
It remained until the pair got up, their fingers intertwined, and Agatha to led them away, up the steps and out of sight.
The feeling turned cold, replaced indefinitely by sorrow.
Infinity was the one to bring her home.
She couldn't have left otherwise.
But she never went back.
Not until it was time to collect Lilia a second time— far older and grayer in appearance, with smile lines like crows feet— a sign of a life well lived.
Agatha wasn't with her, not initially, but Death knew she was coming. She could feel it in her bones, how the lifeline fluttered.
Lilia insisted on waiting.
For some odd reason, Death let her.
She simply stepped back into the shadows, waiting for the final shoe to drop.