In Death We Love

To Wish

Once, long ago, when Death first saw her, she danced like a dandelions seed; falling and twirling in accordance to the wind. He had stood behind the smallest of armies, lurking as Death did. No one could capture Death's stare like he had captured theirs, until he found himself gazing at the girl with sun-kissed skin.

It was said that the snow melted at his feet as he watched; that a warmth escaped his cold exterior, fighting off the nightly chill. Though cakes of snow lay abundant on tree branches and fields of yellow, she reclaimed the sun's rays in her fluidity, breaking through the clouds and running along the dirt roads and meadows.

To him, every movement she made proved the existence of her freedom, from the glint of the firelight in her green eyes, to the intricacy of her braid, coiling like an untamed snake against her neck. She moved like every raindrop that peltered at your skin in a storm, trailing off in their own unique ways. A sharp pang in his chest warned him to look away from her dance, but her outstretched arms were warm and tempting, a place he could rest his bones. He knew in two weeks' time, he had to destroy that, and an ugly, unexpected guilt clutched at his gut.

Yet perhaps, he dangerously pondered. Perhaps I could be as free as she promised, she jumped with a gust of wind, he closed his eyes. Maybe I could dance too. Then he thought of his arms around her, a wistful cry to the stars, and left.

×××

When she first saw him, she mistook him for a woman. From every spin she spun, she made out puckered lips that mindlessly gave a kiss to the wind. She caught sight of dry, ash brown hair falling wildly over his ears, as if he had rolled around in a patch of dirt straight out the womb. His lashes gently brushed against sunburnt cheeks, hovering above kind, tired eyes. Eyes that were not bloodshot from drinking or lacking nights of sleep, eyes that were on her.

They caused her to dance even more, to jump into the night sky and rest above the clouds, to show him what she could do. His face sparked a sense of familiarity in her mind, the sweet aroma of cool October nights as a child filtered through her nostrils. Then she caught sight of his weapon, a golden cylindrical object, and instantly knew he was a man, for you couldn't go a day without seeing one at their sides.

She leapt as her heart had, descended into a twirl, and felt her dress fly up due to a sudden gust of wind, revealing her makeshift under garments. A chain of whistles and shouts sent her cheeks blushing. With a curtsy she instinctively looked towards the boy, only to find him gone. Then, without a trace of memory of the events that came after her performance, she found herself looking for him.