Pomegranates Chapter 43

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Tell them that you weren't hungry, tell them you followed the pomegranates seeds because they tasted like blood, like love.

Pauline Albanese

When Dean's form disappeared she felt the eyes of the two beings in the room to roll over to her. Awkwardly shifting on her feet she almost falls back as the flooring shifts beneath her. The colours blending together, sucking the breath from her lungs as she feels herself almost trip over the change.

Death is now a few paces in front of her, eyes keen and boring inside of her, waiting. "My apologies, Belle, I must admit that my request that you keep me company was... impulsive at best." He nods to a lone table in the middle of the reflective black tiles. "Sit, join me for a meal."

"Should I be worried?" Belle asks as she sits, eyeing the poppies that were bundled in the middle of the table. Death slinking to sit gracefully across from her. "I thought I could only be dead so long..."

He smiles, forking through the meal on his plate, looking down the teen realizes she also has one in front of her. The meat perfectly plated, the drizzling sending a gleam across the room. "I assure you that is purely my design. You will be able to return to your body when it's time."

"And that will be...?" Belle trails innocently, peeking up at the creature between her bangs.

He smiles, "Côtelettes d'agneau avec relish à la grenade," he says lowly, "a delicacy."

"Lamb chops with a pomegranate relish." Belle translates, "you know, in Iran and Afghanistan pomegranates are viewed as a holy fruit... one to be cherished, in Zoroastrianism, it was a symbolization of one's soul."

Death takes a bite as she speaks, watching the teen carefully. When he swallows he leans toward her. "I sense a but coming through."

"But," the huntress amends, "in ancient Greece, it was the fruit that Hades trapped Persephone in the underworld," Death's leer brightened, "so, Hades, where are you trying to trap me?" She asks, cutting into it and bringing a piece that had a singular pomegranate seed laying on top. Popping it into her mouth, she had to compliment the taste, the sweet and the tart warmed her chest.

"You are an exceptionally intelligent human." Death calls, his eating picking up a pace as Belle joined him. "But you're also exceptionally interesting, you are supposed to be my Trutina, my balance."

Belle huffs, "I'm kinda tired of celestial beings giving me nicknames." She mutters, speaking her thoughts from earlier.

Said being laughs brightly, "yes, we do seem to do that." He sniffs, "but you, one who is supposed to be so full of life are... shrouded in death." He watches her intensely as she takes another mouthful. "It covers you, like a film, or shadow, sticking to you like a second skin. Yet no matter how close you come to me..." he trails, moving his fingers across a napkin and freezing, "you scurry away."

The pounding in her chest grew, reaching her throat, a nervousness bubbling over intensely. "Guess I'm lucky." She mutters, placing another bite between her lips, the meat falling apart as the man observes her.

"Lucky?" He questions, "you of all people don't believe that, mea trutina. You seek me, you're tired." Death's eyes soften, "I've seen many ways your fire burns Belle, but all of them, they do so quickly."

That should scare her, should make her dread the future that was propelling toward her. She should.

So why is the feeling that races through her skin relief?

"You're a magnet, Belle, for darkness," he whispers, "I keep sending it toward you... that man in the bar today? He was a murderer, a cannibalistic one at that." Death says it so casually, with the attitude of discussing the weather, he leans back in his chair, his plate clean. "On the levels of Jack the Ripper, or maybe Manson... that brilliant psychopathy." He hums as he thinks, interest and wonder filling his stare, "and you shared a conversation with him, you paid for his drink." Belle swallowed dryly, not able to speak through the stiffness in her chest, "you, my dear, are fascinating."

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