DEMENTED | Romance | Fantasy | Slight Thriller

Chapter Three: I Don't Talk to Humans

Chapter Three: I Don't Talk to Humans

The enormous cathedral Ebony stood in front of loomed over her like a medieval fortress. It was made entirely of stone, though some was black as the disappearing night and other parts were a washed-away beige.

Lifelike gargoyles towered at least a hundred feet above her, faces forever marred in ugly and terrifying expressions. Other sculptures decorated the exterior, ranging from depictions of events in all the realms' history to depictions of ordinary people, heads bowed low and offering themselves to the Goddess, who floated over them like a bewitchingly lovely wraith.

It was all so decadent, and yet as much as Ebony wanted to look at it more she had something she needed to do. She took one last good look at the structure in front of her and then headed inside, through the cathedral's impressive doors of wood and iron.

Ebony wondered why she'd find the Prince of Death in a cathedral, of all places, but nevertheless she ventured inside, unsure what to find.

Inside she found a funeral.

Ebony'd never liked funerals. They were never the celebration of death, as the name promised--they were full of sorrow and despair. It was misleading.

But she gritted her teeth and entered the hall.

An organ played a sorrowful tune, its sad yet powerful voice echoing through the huge hall. Hundreds of heads were bowed in mourning, attached to bodies all adorned in black. No one in the crowd stood out to her like she imagined the Prince of Death would.

She quietly sighed and went to join the funeral's attendance.

She stood behind them in a pew far in the back, trying not to stand out but making sure not too fit in too well either. First she'd have to assess the situation; only then could she get an idea of the role she needed to play.

From what she could see, this funeral was for an old aristocrat who'd died of old age as far as Ebony could tell. His resting face would've been different if he'd died from disease or murder.

She scoffed at the idea. Word didn't travel from other realms much after Absinthe's banishment, but everyone knew the Aurian government spent far too much money on their well-being and security for a death like that to ever happen.

The negativity in the attendance thrummed like a hive. It blanketed the entire procession, making it hard for her to notice anything else. All the people she deemed aristocrats from the sharp upwards tilt of their perfectly primed noses seemed not to be sad at all, and yet the despair was overwhelming.

Ebony wondered if it was the Prince's doing.

The organ quieted at last, having ended its tune of sorrow, allowing the priest at the head of the altar to speak. He droned on, talking about the late aristo and how much of an impact he'd made on society... and Ebony almost fell asleep.

It was now morning, and the rays of fresh sunlight lit up the room. She wasn't used to being awake during the day, and the warm rays tempted her, all the hours she'd spent awake weighing her down.

Much as she tried to fall asleep, the spell the Goddess cast on her wouldn't let her, like caffeine injected into Absinthe's rich coffee. Her eyelashes slowly batted, as she tried her best to fight off the spell.

No such luck. She sniffed in defeat and tried to focus on the task at hand.

The Prince of Death was nowhere in sight. She didn't know what he looked like, but she hoped the instinct the Goddess had given her would do its work for her.

No one stood out. She examined the attendance as best she could, but no one particularly spoke death more than the dead aristocrat.

She peered closer at the casket. Could that be him?

The priest suddenly stopped speaking, and everyone began to leave the room save for Ebony. Instead, she walked up to the casket as best as she could manage, trying to get a closer look.

The aristocrat was very old, and wrinkles ran like spiderwebs across his face. He looked to be about 2 days dead, considering the waxiness of his skin and the glassiness in his eyes. He looked so very human, yet--

A hand as pale and elegant as ivory pulled her back from the casket. "You're not supposed to be here."

Ebony whirled around in shock, only to see a tall, elegant stranger cloaked in a hood of midnight black. Then he removed his hood, and as Ebony saw his features her shoulders went slack.

He was impossibly beautiful. Silver-white hair much like the Goddess's hung over his eyes, so seemingly soft and luxurious Ebony had to restrain herself from running her hands through it. His eyes were a warm, velvety black, and the rest of his features were sharp and hard and pale. His jawline was hard as he stared at Ebony, waiting for her to do something, but all she could do was stare in awe.

"You-you're--" she fumbled for words, but her instinct said it all. He was the Prince of Death, and he was glaring at her.

"Yes, I am," he responded, obviously irritated. "Be thankful I'm not killing you for it."

She moved away from the casket, remembering how to speak. "I have to talk to you--"

He stepped in front of her, swinging his black cloak around him and removing a weapon with a curved blade that glinted like stolen souls and broken promises. A scythe. His most unholy and sacred weapon. "I don't talk to humans," he snarled back at her as he lifted high his weapon.

"I think you misunderstand me," Ebony said desperately. "I'm actually an Absinthian."

"I didn't know Absinthians were allowed outside their borders," the Prince replied, his back facing her.

"We're not," she replied, trying to gain his full attention. "I'm not. But the Goddess sent me."

The Prince brought his scythe down on the dead aristocrat, and Ebony couldn't see what was happening, yet she knew he was taking his soul. "And why would she send you?"

"Her heart has been stolen," she responded. "And she wants us to find it."

The Prince turned toward her in a sweeping, smooth motion at once. "Her heart?"

"Yes," Ebony replied, trying not to meet his eyes for fear of losing herself in them. "She said you had some sort of pull to it?" she asked, trying to find an explanation.

"That blasted witch," he cursed under his breath. "Always losing herself and making me do the dirty work."

Ebony said nothing, shocked he could get away with such an insult. If she'd been the one to utter those words, she'd find herself dead before she could take another breath.

The Prince turned back to the aristocrat, finishing up his deed. "So why are you here?"

Ebony had to think about that for a moment. "I don't know," she responded honestly.

The Prince turned away from both the aristocrat's body and Ebony, lost in thought. He stayed that way for a couple minutes.

Ebony found herself again after a long time. "Well, seeing as there are currently no further complications, I'm off."

She began walking down the aisle away from the casket and the Prince, eager to be away from him. But unfortunately the Prince wouldn't leave her be after that.

"Wait," the Prince said, catching her shoulder. "We can go. But first we need to get ready. I can tell you'll need to be prepared," he said, eyeing her wounded side.

She looked where he was staring and noticed it oozing blood like a waterfall. Three drops of the liquid fell and stained the aisle's carpet and she stared at it incredulously for a moment.

Then the world around her began spinning, as it had sharpened when she'd first seen the Prince. The fatigue she'd felt crept up on her once again, only this time the instinct was no longer around to prevent it from taking over.

She fell to her knees, exhausted. And then as she fully fell to the ground her vision went black.