[Death's POV]
"Who disturbs this halfway realm of death? Who dares to approach the harbinger..." I asked letting my voice roll out into the seemingly empty woods, directed towards the young mortal that stood before me. So close to me, willingly close to me. A bizarre thing.
The leaves shivered around me as the breeze trickled through the trees and their chatter was the only sound as I waited in silence for the mortal to reply.
He had dirty blond hair and dark blue-grey eyes, lithe in form but not lacking any muscle. Twenty-three years old, his birthday was yesterday, his time of death still undetermined. He was old for a man having a date of death still yet to be decided. A strange thing, smelled like artificial fruit and whiskey.
The sounds of the forest stilled as I spoke, and I stood growing taller and more imposing in front of him in the deathly quiet of the dark tall trees. The gravestone I had been sitting upon falling away beneath my height, disappearing beneath me, cloaked in my darkness.
I glared down at him.
The strange little mortal looked back up at me.
Now I would never blame someone for not acknowledging a glare of mine, the angels never recognised any facial expressions I thought I was expressing, and that was a matter of course because I didn't actually have a face. I was made of bones and matter, there was no skin, no cartilage.
But that was exactly why it was strange, it almost seemed as though he was looking me directly in my eyes.... His head was tilted back fully to look up at my extended form and those big blue eyes watched me, almost naively, without the slightest hint of fear.
Or perhaps there was some, there was the slightest scent of fear lingering in the air, however it didn't seem like enough. I warranted more.
I didn't care, of course, I didn't need him to be frightened. But it was highly suspicious of the fact that he wasn't. What sort of short-lived mortal dared to look Death in the eye and not pause a moment in fright.
I shifted, taking one long step forwards, slowly, my form floating as though I were suspended in water, the frayed edges of my black cloak rippling behind me and flowing out in waves. I settling in front of him, looking down at him even closer, allowing the black fog I controlled to expand and fill out into the surrounding area.
It would be dark for him now, more and more of his vision obscured by the impossible darkness I had conjured around him. Dark and cold.
Be afraid. I urged. Show me your fear.
Would his fear taste sweet like syrup or bitter like vines? Would his eyes dilate and his heart beat faster, his hair raise on its ends, goose-bumps scatter over his skin... Would those big blue eyes get any wider, dazed, horrified, filled with the sickness, the disease of paralysing fear.
"Wow," He exclaimed, his voice not loud but unmoderated in volume. "That's really cool," His hand moved through the thick black fog and his hand sank inside, past my barrier, to press up against my chest.
"How do you do that?" He asked, smiling innocently, a slight glow to that perfect complexion.
I stared at him. It had been an exceptionally long time since I had felt that feeling, an exceedingly long time. So long that it took me several moments to recognise the feeling. I was in a state of surprise. A shiver of shock making its way down my body. Something that Death himself should never be able to feel. I blinked slowly. An emotion that was human in nature, pointless and did no good. So, with all the wisdom of almost an eternity of hard and disciplined work I removed the shock from myself, siphoning it off into the void inside my strange incomplete soul and I squinted down at him.
[Lake's POV]
How had I gotten to this point again? I replayed the scene in my head once more but every frame of it seemed delayed and unreal. I had probably warped something or confused something together with something else because this wasn't actually happening the way I was seeing it.
"Who disturbs this halfway realm of death? Who dares to approach the harbinger..." Came the impossibly low, loud question. The power in his voice reverberated across the cemetery and even seemed to go beyond that, echoing in my ears as though my mind was double taking at the sound of his voice. A very nice voice, even a sexy voice one might say. I might say that. A really sexy low voice.
When I looked up at him again I saw his face once more, a perfect and yet somehow impossibly evil looking face. Almond shaped eyes, surrounded by a layer of light brown, perfect skin and thin lips. Oh yes, and red eyes, bright red eyes that pinned me down against the grass, looking at me as though I was an insect beneath him that he was preparing to crush with his index finger.
Now, I should have been afraid. I'm not daft, of course I should have been. It would have made sense to be afraid, perfectly understandable.
The thing is, when you're drunk, or when I'm drunk in any case, my attention becomes very splintered. So call it drunk courage or bad memory or a rubbish attention span, but I completely forgot to be afraid.
"Wow, that's really cool," I said in quiet awe, I reached in through the soft black fog and it seemed to brush my hand and arm as I pressed my hand up against a very firm chest that was hidden by a cape that appeared to be both extremely rough and silken soft in texture. "How do you do that?" I asked the strange creature, or man, whose deep red eyes were still watching me expressionlessly.
"Do you not fear Death?" He asked me.
Weird question, I was still distracted by his almost ethereally beautiful face and low rumbling voice. I shrugged slowly, still watching him. "I don't know, Death as in the action or the mythical character that goes around deporting souls?"
He drew even closer, his form sinking beside me as though he was somehow raising and lowering himself despite Newtons law of universal gravitation. His unblinking eyes never seeming to let mine go as they drew me into his gaze, he settled an inch or two away from me, not a breath coming out of his mouth or nose. "Both..." He hissed in a low voice filled with gravel.
I swallowed, a slight pinch of fear clinging onto my heart. I was afraid, but it wasn't quite able to reach my brain, my brain was still acting on it's own without properly consulting the rest of me.
My hand slipped further down his chest as he moved and it distracted me, the way his muscles moved under my hand, the strangely cold chest that I was pressing my hand again, it felt as though it was hiding warmth the longer my hand stayed there. I had the crazy thought, I wonder what this guy looks like topless, because just feeling the muscles on his chest was sending my heart racing.
He raised a brow, looking down at me hand and then back up at me.
"You brush your hands against the bones of Death and look up into the sockets that shaken men only see when they last leave their physical bodies and you feel no fear?"
I looked up at him quietly. "You have really nice eyes." I told him.
I had heard what he'd said, of course. It just wasn't listed as something important, so I moved on.
"Nice eyes?" He seemed taken aback.
I gazed up at those stunning dark red eyes, the darkness around them causing them to glow as he looked down at me. They were really nice. "They're red. Are they contacts?"
He was silent a moment longer. "I have no eyes."
"What am I looking at then?" I frowned.
"I am Death. I do not have eyes. I am only made of bones."
"But what about your chest then?"
He raised a perfect brow. "It is my ribcage you have your hand on."
I frowned, realising that what I was doing was weird. I should have pulled my hand back at that realisation, this was probably sexual harassment or something, which was bad, which was why I really ought to pull my hand away.
But I didn't want to, I slid my hand higher up.
"This definitely isn't just bones." I said quietly, a strange ache peering through my soul as I spread my fingers out against his chest.
He narrowed his eyes, those perfect evil eyes and all their moving darkness squinting at me as though he was deciding best how to devour me in one large bite.
"You are..." He looked down at his chest and ran a skeletal finger. It looked like it was made of bones but it was obviously just some sort of really good mask. I didn't know how he did it, I felt as though I could almost see the gaps between the thin white bones.
He stroked a long finger down the centre of it, the rough fabric parting its way as though it was made of unconnected grass fibres and nothing else, a scraping sound its only resistance. And as it opened my hand slid past to brush against his bare chest instead.
Soft skin, and even tone, and muscle. He was really very muscular, the kind of muscle that made a part of me inside cry from need. Don't blame me, he was so attractive the more I looked at him the more I saw of him the more I wanted him. Perfect, seemingly, from his face down to his chest. I wondered what else was this attractive on him.
But when I looked up I saw the dark frozen look on his face, hard to read, strange and beautiful. Impossibly handsome.
"Well this has never happened before."
"What-" I was preparing to ask him before he suddenly swept forwards all the dark thick black fog gathering around him as I was flung backwards, the cold bony fingers wrapped around my through, impossibly power rippling through the air as he drove me backwards against the grass and the mud beneath me and he held me down.
"Who is your master?" He asked me, his question sounding more like a demand. So loud and low that it sounded like fifty voices all humming the question in time with him.
I swallowed loudly.
Those fingers around my neck really, really felt a lot like actual bones. Actual bones, from a skeleton... My brain was beginning to catch up, slowly but surely, a feeling of sickness settling in my stomach.
"I... I'm not super into that..." I stuttered.
One eye narrowed, black smoke seeping out from the edges as though the roots of the eyelashes were on fire, darkness that seemed to attempt to pull me in, examine me.
Sharp eyes that gripped me and forced me to stay petrified against the damp earth as he gazed into my soul.
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