Alice could never have imagined working alongside the Reaper in the afterlife. An editor, cardiologist, or lawyer, perhaps, but making deals with the embodiment of Death? Never. Yet, over time, she adapted. More so, she grew to relish the final sounds of silence before dawn, while the human world still slumbered, unaware that one of its own had descended into Hell. Entry was easy. The return, much harder.
Above all, the skeleton mourned, towering over the tombstones like a clumsy granite monument. "If you STOP assuring PEOPLE that everything will be okay after DEATH, maybe they'll try to put things right here while they're still ALIVE," mused the Reaper, sipping terrible gas station coffee, gazing at the crosses jutting from the ground.
Alice didn't believe these words, or in the power of attachment. But at that moment, her hand trembled as it touched the black satin ribbon binding the boxes on her bed.
She would have given much to hear familiar laments and lists, rather than ponder the unknown awaiting her that evening.
The note beside her read, "Happy first day at work, birdie! Your only tasks: be a beautiful symbol and cause no trouble. Yours, K." At that moment, Alice wasn't sure she could manage even one of those.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.
"Madam, may I enter?" a voice asked delicately from behind the door.
Alice started, placing the note on the desk, timidly squaring her shoulders.
"Come in."
First to appear under the door was a hat. A huge round headpiece framed with heavy black lace, adorned with dangling burgundy stones and feathers, followed by a man in a black formal suit with a pristine white shirt, holding rosary beads that clacked, breaking the looming silence.
"My name is Corvin, I am the chief butler of the heir prince's residence. Unfortunately, all the servants were busy preparing for last night's dinner, and we could not welcome you properly. Except for one, who was fortunate enough to meet you, and the window frame," he chuckled.
It was hard to guess what the demon truly thought, as his face remained hidden under the brim of his hat.
He added, "I offer my sincere apologies, young lady."
"You can just call me Alice. After all, I'm just a nightingale," she responded indifferently, continuing to untie the bow.
"The butler is the face of his master. Can a lord afford to treat his personal nightingale without due respect?" Corvin replied.
"Rumor has it, I probably won't stay long. So maybe don't try too hard," she smiled, closely examining the contents of the box.
Right now, she regretted nothing. Or rather, she had no right to. She needed to stay focused to achieve her goal—to gain access to the archives, to see familiar eyes again, to ensure that Damian was alright, even if he didn't want to see her.
Inside was a uniform. Bright blue.
Like the sky you seek salvation from and never find.
Like the sea she almost drowned in when she was five.
Like his eyes.
Alice hated the color blue.
"Do you not like it?" the butler asked, pausing his bead movement.
She shuddered, running her finger over the gold embossing on the jacket's chest.
"Every court nightingale must match their lord. History is a curious thing. Gods didn't eat bread, didn't drink wine, they had no blood—they were immortal. But ichor flowed through their veins. A fluid symbolizing the divine, reflected in eyes, possessing immense power. Blue is the color of gods and authority, for it was spilled on the battlefields to claim that very power."
"And what happened to them in the end?"
"Death embraced many of them, as it inevitably does with all beings. They created weapons against each other, some left of their own will, unwilling to witness destruction. Chaos gives and takes. Gods dissolved into the Abyss from whence they came. But worry not, young lady, not all of them are dead."
Alice's gaze slid again over the outfit before her, and she quietly said, "Skull symbols are no surprise. It would be odd not to be reminded at every step that we are in the realm of the dead, right?"
She crossed her arms over her chest, as if shielding herself.
"Indeed, it's something to remember," he continued unperturbed. "And the black tulip, symbolizing the endurance and resilience of the existing order."
She seemed not to hear him. She stared at the distinct lines of petals embroidered on the back of the jacket and unwittingly stated, "But Emidius likes lilies."
The demon fell silent for a moment. Then, noticing her earnest gaze, he quickly added, "Yes, perhaps."
And suddenly, she noticed his slanted black eyes. There was nothing in them but emptiness.
"Lady Cassandra strongly recommended that you change and not be late for dinner today," he threw out, already heading towards the door.
When someone abruptly stands up, clearly intending to leave, there are only a few ways to stop them. Alice acted instinctively—grabbing his hand and blocking his path in two steps.
"Corvin, could you take me to the library? I need to find something before dinner," her voice sounded uncertain, as if she herself didn't understand why she was asking this.
It felt strange to Alice because it opened up the worst within her. Ordinary human weakness. She needed forbidden spells, those that destroy bones, scorch muscles, and corrode flesh and stones. Spells capable of tearing a soul down to its very foundation.
She thought she had survived everything that made her fearful. But there it was again, the feeling of primal fear, like a heavy hand, laying on her shoulders.
"Of course, I would be happy to assist you," his voice was cold and restrained. "I will wait outside the door."
YOU ARE READING
The nightingale
FantasyWelcome to Hell! Why are you here? For power, magic, or perhaps love? Don't worry: you are not alone. You are surrounded by hundreds of other lost souls, called nightingales. Among the dead, Alice is one who sold her soul for her own purpose. Howeve...
