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Death had finally gotten Calum's soul in Her ruthless chains. In the bloody steps of the Palace, by the hand of the Meek King of Ilya.
"I dragged the soul you killed to the Mors." Mara states, matter of factly, if the blank expression on Her visage was a veil. It was very well made.
She took a seat opposite to the dying King, now less recognizable by the dark circles weighing under his eyes, by the ink marring his pristine sleeves. But above all, because of the first life he just took.
Kitt visibly recoils at Her words, as if the paper he was assaulting with his pen, stabbed him back.
"Calum..." That dazed gaze is back, only with an unsteady composure ready to falter into the hands of Death any moment.
"I don't know what came over me. He was a threat and suddenly...suddenly, I was running him through my blade."
Death eyes him closely. Yes, Her calculating eyes witnessed many regrets and has a very distant memory of feeling the coil of it.
But something about this feeling is different, it is as though Kitt feels a low justification humming through his guilt, for the Greatness of Ilya.
"You did not tell me your worry of illegitimacy." Death says tapping Her foot a steady beat against the thick rug, now littered with balls of paper.
"It was not your burden to bear." Kitt sighs, retreating to his pen stabbing, now smooth cursives with exaggerated loops and ink occasionally flying at the edges of the paper.
Death does not like the sound of that, even if it does make Her dusty, webbed heart uselessly flutter,
"What is yours-" Death says, sharp eyes now fixed on Kitt's focused ones, "is mine. Our eternity begins very soon."
Mara manages what She hopes to be a smile, it has been long since She remembered how "good" had felt like, but the faintest memory told Her it had felt something like this.
Kitt's eyes snap back to Death's seemingly unflinching ones, and then as though quickly regretting that decision, he grimaces rubbing his temple.
"...Our eternity?' Kitt asks,
Mara feels Her composure stumble, which would be a very rare occasion mind you, but ever since Time let Her indulge in Kitt's warm company, everything rare now became the norm.
"...Well we are fated of course." Death says, enunciating each word slowly so Kitt could grasp them.
It was an oddity in sight, Death slowing Her dramatics for a man who would soon only hear the haunting whispers of the shallow land She ruled, The Mors.
"...You have sacrificed your soul to be with me, we will be together."
Death completes, Her gaze never wavering off of Kitt's. Though still frail, it seemed much more aware of Mara's words.
Kitt could not have believed what had been reaching his almost deaf ears, Death was offering him company in Her dark and notorious eternity.
And yet, contrary to how most people would react, he has never felt as cathartic as the thought of resting in Death's chilly yet loving arms in eternity made him.
Death did not know this, She was the hands that caught the weary, not a mind reader. The blank expression on Kitt's face could hardly give Her the closure She so rarely craves.
Before Death could sharpen Her veneer of indifference, Kitt lets a soft chuckle.
Not the mocking tone that She is used to hear from the same mud-filled mouths that mock women.
Not the nervous ones that croak out of mud stained mouths while She drags them nor the ones booming of insanity as they wander aimlessly in The Mors.
but the soft melodic chuckle that dusts off the webbed walls that guard Her scarred brown heart, the kind that is its own type of blood and fills it, makes it whole again and pump.
"...Oh, Mara," Kitt smiles weakly, Mara was frightened for a second that his confessions were just the words of a drugged, sick man.
But the next words he said were answers to the doubts of Her orbiting mind,
"I am soon going to a place where the only source of vegetation is dry and dead, where the ground itself craves closure from the dead, where everything is supposedly either perfect peace or perfect insanity, and yet..."
Kitt's eyes become more focused on the sharp pupils of Mara's, the more he stared, the more he fell.
"...Yet, if I am with you, Death Herself. I feel as though I would feel more closure than this selfish life had ever given me, feel more...Love."
The last word was also a difficulty for Kitt to say, now nervousness could be seen in the way he fiddled with the heavy crown resting upon his golden curls.
Death could no longer tell what is real and what is not, this man had made Her craving composure which She always had prior.
"...I cannot love," Death blurts out, earning a surprised hum from both Her and Kitt.
"...I have not felt the feeling since a long time, I do not love the way mortals easily do, and I do not know what Love is..."
Mara says, this is the most vulnerable thing Death had ever spoken in who knows how long.
"I cannot love in the way I have seen my brother and his lover either," Kitt says, his gaze slightly drooping on the word lover.
"But I have felt love and care for Kai, a brotherly love to secure him, to keep him safe from the world's treacheries even if he has seen and acted the part more than I have witnessed. A selfish and stupid thing to wish, so late at that, I know, but..."
Kitt sighs, "...It is the least I could do, for him, this Plague." He gestures to himself,
"It is an act of repentance for all the times I forced myself to look away while he was punished by our cruel, cruel Father, the times I tried to give him pep talks to go on missions forced by father to kill, instead of trying to help him escape his missions."
Death's chilled fingers gently caress Kitt's stained ones, his felt more chilly than usual which made even Death sigh.
Kitt, though taken aback, held Death's fingers as well, shaky fingers gripping firm ones, he has forgotten what this had felt like as much as She had.
"...Then let's love," Mara pauses, tasting the odd word on Her tongue, then a faint smile forms Her sharp mouth, "...love each other in our own weird, twisted and of course, morbid way."
" To love and to Death," Kitt says, his smile an opposite to the way how that sentence would usually be perceived.
The King smiles as widely as he possibly can without the sickness beckoning him otherwise,
Death, on the other hand, has never felt more cherished.
It is a rather funny sight, to see Death rendered silence by a man who can fall into her clutches any second.
But again, all things that are genuine in a world filled with lust for power are silly.