Chapter Text
When death first came to visit you, he knocked politely at the door. He took his hood off, and he bowed before he robbed you. On his way out, he apologized.
One part of him stayed with you. The other waved "I'll see you later."
He was a sorry creature—Death.
Quiet and shy and chilling to the bone.
Born to take and steal—Cursed to linger in the shadows of life.
He was everywhere, but nowhere welcome.
Death lurked on battlefields and children's beds. He roamed the hospitals and nurseries—the forests and the oceans—slums and castles.
Death is a fever you can't sweat out.
When you first met him, Death was timid and polite. You told him he could stay a while and keep you company.
But Death can't rest while bullets fly and missiles shoot. He had to be on his way, collecting nameless souls to bury in the clouds.
You asked if you could come along. He told you it wasn't your time.
But Death lingers with the living.
And every now and then, your paths would cross.
Each time he told you, "It's not your turn".
Then he turned around to take what was yours—not his.
Death is a thief, but he's not cruel.
Life kills. Death reaps.
The living pick up the shards. And then they kill each other again.
When you last spoke Death, he told you he loved us. That he loved every human he carried away. That hearts were heavy, but souls were soft.
That everyone he scraped off the pavement, every person dug out beneath war's rubble, every murderer and soldier and doctor alike—was light and pure when he took them.
He said all souls were children's souls.
Death said humans are cruel. But humanity is beautiful.
And as much as he wants to, he can't stay away.
Because humans will be humans.
With their swords and their guns and their tanks and their bombs.
With their countries and their pride—their bravery and foolishness.
Humans will be humans.
And while white doves sail and red flags wave,
they throw themselves into Death's arms,
for false hopes and empty promises.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
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