Death is a Girl

Chapter 19: self-care advice

After a dreamless night, she initially woke confused by the unfamiliar room. As the fog of sleep cleared, reality came back: she was in Death’s home—a trainee reaper on her third day of eternity.

After shuffling out of bed she got dressed, for once not thinking twice about the colors or the style. They would all turn black anyway, so it didn’t matter anymore. She quickly freshened up in the bathroom then headed out into the hallway, curious if Death would be where he said he’d be.

Sure enough, she found him seated on the couch, controller in hand, gamer headset hugging his skull, and eyes fixed on the television screen. He was playing some sort of fantasy game. His skeletal fingers nimbly worked the buttons as his sword-wielding character faced down a dragon. It was an amusing and somewhat jarring sight—Death, the eternal Grim Reaper, playing video games like a teenager on a Saturday morning.

Sensing her presence, he paused the game and looked up. “Ah, good morning, Morrigan. How did you sleep?”

“Not too bad,” she answered.

“I’m pleased to hear that. Would you like to go get some breakfast? I’m afraid I don’t have any food in the house. I haven’t had to eat for quite some time, so it completely slipped my mind.”

“It’s okay, I’m not really hungry.”

Death wagged a finger. “I would recommend taking care of your body. Though its needs are not tied strictly to your continued existence, there’s no reason to rush into becoming a bag of bones like me. You have all the time in the world for that.”

Never thought I’d be getting self-care advice from Death himself.

Shaking off the irony, she said, “Okay. I’ll grab something later.”

“Be sure that you do,” he responded, putting down the controller. “Now, we each have our own lists, but I think it will be best to tackle them together. Noir will be busy today investigating the graveyard, but I don’t think you are quite ready to go off reaping by yourself yet. Especially not when there are potentially two demons running around, each with a smell for you.”

“Great,” she said under her breath. “So whats up—do demons hunt reapers?”

“It depends on the demon. Some can be relatively harmless, but even the harmless ones could become dangerous should their power grow. How they achieve that varies, it could be they feed off a particular emotion such as fear or sorrow. Others are parasitic, latching onto a host, which is the case when you think of possessions.”

“He said… the younger the better.” She at once felt an uncomfortable shiver down her spine and anger in her heart.

“Then, in the case of that demon, it could be that his power comes from effecting the lifespan of his victims.”

“How would that even work?”

“Demons, ultimately, are forces of chaos. By throwing off the order of what is natural and expected, he affects the balance of the world, and could gain power from it.”

Morrigan’s eyes narrowed as she tried to process the information. “So, essentially, this demon gains strength from… disrupting fate?”

“Affecting fate, would be an apt description,” Death confirmed. “Which makes him particularly dangerous for us. Killing a reaper, and thus effecting their role in maintaining balance would be the holy grail for one such as him.”

“What about Noir himself?” Morrigan asked. Death seemed confused so she clarified. “He mentioned his species were forces of chaos. Something like, if his kind were to rule there couldn’t be an ordered universe… or something like that.”

“Aaaah, I’m surprised he explained that to you. He must like you.”

Morrigan raised an eyebrow. “He’s got a funny way of showing it.”

Death gave a leafy chuckle. “Noir doesn’t open up easily. It took me a few centuries with him. If he’s sharing details about his kind, consider it a sign of trust. But to answer your question, yes, you could consider Voidlings, Noir himself, a type of demon. Though they are unique enough to deserve their own classification.”

Morrigan thought about it, trying to piece it together. “So, if a Voidling who thrives on chaos actively works against that goal. Wouldn’t it make him weaker?”

“Precisely,” Death said. “Which is why—and I say this—Noir is our ally now, but it is not something that can be fully taken for granted.”

Morrigan pondered on that, letting the weight of the words settle. “But why? Why would Noir actively work against his nature?”

Death shifted slightly, a sign that the question was perhaps more complicated than it seemed. “Well, there is quite a long history you would have to understand, and the factual way to answer that may sound cruel to someone who we consider our ally.” Morrigan turned her head, signaling him to continue. Death lifted his hood, casting his skull in shadow once more. “The truth is, Noir does not have a choice. He was born—or… manifested—at a time that the scales had shifted heavily to the side of order. If he were not to play his role helping us maintain order, and instead embraced chaos, then… well, we have our duties as reapers.”

Morrigan spoke flatley. “You’d have to kill him.”

“Yes, but,” his tone lightened, “that is not something I feel particularly worried about. For Noir to be compelled to switch sides, the world would have to change so drastically that I doubt you would recognize it anymore. Anyway, my first reaping is in an hour, and yours is some time after that. We can get you something to eat on the way.”

***

At the drive-through Morrigan asked Death to order her a simple breakfast sandwich. She didn’t really want it, despite having not eaten anything in two days. Not that her body no longer got hungry, but because the stress she had been under made the very idea of food nauseate her.

At the window, Death’s skeletal hand held out a credit card. He did not look at the cashier, and kept his gaze low, under the hood. The cashier should have been able to see he was serving a skeleton, but did nothing to indicate this fact.

“When we first met, you disguised yourself,” Morrigan pointed out. “How come you bothered when you can just stop people from seeing what you are?”

“Context,” Death asnwered. “A truck leaving the graveyard in the middle of the night might catch the attention of a lawman. A police officer will be much more likely to focus on who someone is than a fast food worker who serves hundreds of random customers.”

A moment later, the fast food worker in question handed the bag out the window and wished Death a good day.

“Here you are, Morrigan,” Death said as he passed it off to her.

She didn’t think she wanted it, but upon unwrapping it and smelling the greasy bacon between the biscuits, something in the core of her stomach cried out, Yes! Finally!

The first bite was a little forced, but not the second. She devoured it within a minute and when it was gone she was tempted to go back for another. In the battle of stomach over mind—it seemed stomach was the winner. Mind just needed a little push in order to retreat.

Once she was finished and balled up the wrapper she asked, “Sooo, who’s first on the hit list?”

“Please don’t refer to it as such,” Death said. “You should consider this a virtuous duty, and show the proper respect.”

“Right, sorry.”

“But, to answer your question, my first client today will be dying of an overdose.”

Morrigan looked down at the fingerless glove on her hand. “So, people die on their own right? What’s the point of having the power to kill with a touch, then?”

“Often, souls remain in their bodies after death and there may be times you’d like to first remove them before reaping. Other times, the fates assign a time of death when it will not naturally occur. Or, there are times when through sheer power of will someone may cling onto life even though their fate has been decided. In such cases, we must do the job ourselves and this power becomes quite convenient.”

“So we really will have to kill people sometimes.”

“Yes, but that is less common… oh!” Death suddenly slowed the car down and pulled to the side of the street. Morrigan looked out the window to see a misty figure peeking into a boarded up shop. It’s head to above the center of its chest seemed humanoid, but it had no arms and its torso disappeared into a translucent whisp. As it turned and floated to the other end of the shop, Morrigan saw two glowing lights where eyes should be on its head, and only the slightest hint of a shadowed curve along its chin and cheeks.

“Is that a lingering spirit?” Morrigan asked.

“Worse, it’s a hollow. A spirit that has lingered for too long and has begun to stagnate.” He put the car into park. “Let’s see… it seems this one is destined for hell. Wait here, I’ll take care of it.”

“Hell? What do you…”

Death slid out of the driver seat, his cloak billowing in the wind as he reached his hand out and materialized his scythe. Instead of the usual blue light, a red hue clung to the edges of the scythe’s blade.

The hollow seemed unaware of Death’s approach as it wandered back to the first window and looked inside. Morrigan took note of the boarded-up doorway and the empty shelves through the windows. She wondered if the hollow had worked there before it died.

Death stalked the hollow slowly. When he was within a few feet, the creature sensed his presence and whirled around. Its glowing eyes flared with a sickly pale light, recoiling in recognition of what stood before it.

With a fluid motion, Death swung his scythe—the blade cutting through the hollow which wailed in agony as if lamenting its own fate. The sound made Morrigan’s skin crawl and her anxiety returned to her heart in full force.

Death turned his back, and flicked his scythe away, letting it disappear in blue flames. The hollow continued to cry out as it seemed to be dragged through the sidewalk and deep into the earth until it disappeared.

After Death slid into the driver’s seat, he turned the ignition and the car roared back to life. “It’s done,” he said evenly. “A soul that lingers too long begins to deteriorate, losing all sense of itself until it becomes hollow.”

“You said it was… destined for Hell?” Morrigan questioned, her eyes still on the spot where the hollow had disappeared.

“Yes, lingering and becoming a hollow is often a sign of a soul that cannot find peace or redemption. In the latter case, they are usually bound for hell, where they can do no more harm to the living or themselves.”

“When you say can’t find redemption, do you mean killers, bad people?”

“Often, yes, but someone who lives with too much hate or evil in their hearts will not be granted passage to heaven.”

“What did that one do to deserve going to hell?”

“I don’t know, and it is not our job to know. Your duty, if you are to see a lingering spirit, is to send it on. That one was not hollow for very long, but if it were allowed to continue it could become stronger and dangerous to the living.”

“How so?”

“Usually it begins with a haunting, which that hollow seemed to have already begun. It could start to materialize and affect the physical world and perhaps go as far as to try to bring harm to the living.”

“Demons and hollow,” Morrigan said under her breath. Then she chuckled and shook her head. “So, when am I going to learn to fight? There’s got to be some like, offensive reaper magic and stuff like that, right? You know, reaper self defense or something?”

When Death didn’t respond she looked over at him, and it seemed his skeletal fingers tightened on the steering wheel. When she peeked under his hood the dark sockets of his eyes had a red pupil glowing within them, which instantly made him seem at least twice as threatening. Morrigan wondered if she said something wrong.

Then the red pupil disappeared and his jaw slacked in that more jovial expression. “Not to worry, Morrigan. For now focus only on your list. If you see a wandering spirit, reap it. If you see a hollow that is still weak you may reap that one as well. Anything you must fight, please leave to Noir or myself until you are more experienced.”

She turned her head, wondering what was with his reaction a moment ago. “Okay. Got it.”