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— DEATH: IT DOES NOT FAVOR.False vows dripped from cherry rotted lips and honey fell with each word spoken; rotted and bitter beneath the sweet overtone used often upon Death. Wilted roses had lived within cracked vases since its life had begun for the once crimson petals wilted beneath Death's touch. The ignorance of youth Death had once harbored shriveled as if it had attempted affection upon it yet the ignorance had died. Innocence lost that Death once bore mere moments upon Death's creation; mankind corruptive and manipulative. Bittersweet treachery held Death within its hold and had never released it. Can it be deciphered?
It does not love; serenades sung from balconies, all the mortal men and women promised impossible feats within Death's world. Lies. Goodbye's disguised as love letters, tears upon the scribbled sentences and dirt smudged along the edges, sent from soldiers within war and Death herself would reap them. God'scruelty. False words spoken, manipulated an immortal heart. The heart could only bear so much—immortal or mortal it did not matter because the heart remained fragile. Don'tthey know that?
It does not wait; hushed prayers uttered by the mortals for mercy and compassion. But Death bore no mercy and compassion for ones it did not care for nor ones that did not interest it. Memories had been created before Death reaped soul upon soul, its true self disguised beneath black cloth as it guided the dead toward the world beyond it. Silent tears and muffled sobs captured within Death's memory as it attended numerous funerals—anonymous and normal within mortal perception. Goodbye's recited. Hearts stuttered to a stop. Lives lost. Nonsense or truth?
It does not give, it merely takes; souls reaped. Letters unsent by the ones Death itself has reaped; smudged and tear-stained hidden inside envelopes unsent. Self-hatred laid beneath the disguise Death had worn since its birth, for it could not help but loath its existence and unwanted status amongst its fellow creations. Infants, children, teenagers, adults—no soul is spared for Death does not bear preference or favoritism.
It does not; perhaps it did far within the previous centuries, yet no soul had swayed Death since despite the numerous times its heart had been wrapped within string and suffocated. Silent apologies escaped the victims as if forgiveness would be endowed upon them before Death could cut the string. Black is donned by mourners and sorrow is wrapped around the hearts as the dead are buried and forgotten or cremated and stored as if displays. Who is the monster?
