Comforting Darkness

Chapter 61: The Tutor, The Beginning of Everything

He yawned for the umpteenth time tonight, sitting deep in the armchair in the dark corner of the candlelit bedroom, the huge metallic death scythe, adorned with an equally huge skeleton, rested on the wall beside him. Invisible from the mortal eyes he was waiting for his time to come, the dying woman to leave her last breath so he could reap her cinematic records and be done for the day... finally. But things were taking too long and he was bored as hell.

"She will die either way, why does she not accept it already?" He thought, twirling some of his silver long locks between his fingers.

"Cl-Cla-Claudia..." The young woman sweating and shivering on the bed called weakly. A yellowish hue on her skin made her look like a candle melting away.

"Yes, dear. I will call to bring her right away." The... not broken, not devastated... let us say just sad and troubled man in the chair beside the bed said and got up, opened the room's door and whispered something to whoever was standing outside.

The silver haired reaper lifted his spectacles and rubbed his sleepy eyes. One more tearful scene of goodbyes would follow, he was certain, and all this sentimentality and sappiness bored him to death... or rather to second death.

As expected, the door opened and a seven year old girl bolted in the room crying already, for goodness sake! Before anyone could help her, she had climbed on the bed and huddled in her dying mother's chest, begging not to leave her alone. The reaper paid no attention to what mother and daughter said, their last conversation... Either way, he had heard countless similar exchanges and had achieved the desirable level of apathy his kind and line of work demanded.

The woman's breathing became more laboured and the girl's cries more desperate; yes, that was his cue. He took the scythe in his gloved hands, straightened his glasses and got up. Two steps and he was almost over the woman, who right then left her last breath, and a whirling sound was heard as strips of her cinematic records started coming out of her chest.

"Francis Phantomhive, born on the 9th of October of 1815, died on the 18th of June of 1837... Nothing of notice, case closed." The grim reaper said to himself, checking the woman's entry in his notebook, sealed it, put the notebook back in his pocket and got ready to cut the records.

"No, sir!!! Please, do not take mama away!! She is good, never harmed anyone!! Please!!!" The girl started crying; her blue tearful eyes fixed on him and her little, chubby hand stretched towards him, as if she wanted to halt the sharp blade coming down on her mother.

The reaper froze in mid movement, his yellow-green eyes widening totally surprised behind black-rimmed glasses. It was impossible, it should be impossible for a mortal eye, not on the verge of death, to be able to see him, but this little girl obviously could. She kept begging him and her father - frustrated and worried - circled her waist and took her off her dead mother.

"Come on, sweetheart. We talked about mama's big journey to God. It hurts us but we are strong and we will get over it, right?" The man said, hugging his daughter and kissing her soft hair, of the same dark-bluish colour as his, trying to console her.

"No!! If this mister does not take her away! Please, papa, tell him to bring her back!" The girl insisted struggling to slip away from her father's arms and reach the tall, silver haired figure still standing at the side of the bed, staring at her utterly surprised.

"Honey, there is no one there. Please, calm down!" The father said more worried as he checked the girl's forehead with his palm. "Oh God, she is burning up from the shock, she is delirious and hallucinating. Please, take her to her room. Doctor, if you would be so kind..." He said, as he passed the crying and screaming girl in the arms of an older woman and looked at the medical man.