Revelations

Prologue

"He who makes a beast of himself gets rid of the pain of being a man." - Dr. Samuel Johnson

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You cannot turn a blind eye to Death, as Death will follow in the wake of every step. On the contrary, you should embrace Death with the understanding that our flesh is all but immortal, our souls frail and weary, and our hope—once unwavering—now dampened with the weight of uncertainty. Only once you reconcile your existential fear with the notion that everything has a foreseeable end will Death bow, allowing recompense for your mortal sins. Only once you get drunk on Death's wine will you see liberation.

These are the thoughts swirling through Freyja's mind as she tightens the belt strap around her neck, her lit cigarette falling from her lips as she grimaces in discomfort. "Shit," she mutters. "Not tight enough." Wiping ash off of her jeans, she leans forward and plucks the cigarette off the ground and takes a long drag off its end. Smoke billows around her, a stark grey contrast to the black noose tied around her neck, illuminating it in the night.

She extinguishes the cigarette on the ground and looks into the labyrinth above her: columns of wood boards decorating the skeletal remains of the abandoned house she chose for her demise, creating an unforgiving web for any creature that have made it their home. However, that was precisely why Freyja selected this location for her final moments on earth, a tangled maze where not a soul could find her should she ultimately end her life. Perhaps this time she would succeed. Perhaps this time she would conquer the curse bestowed upon her that made her deathless, impervious to greeting her destiny. There will be no interruptions, no fire chiefs bludgeoning down her door, no unlikely hero snatching her off the edge of the bridge. This time, she will be free.

Freyja fastens the belt to a board above, linking her with the framework of the abandoned house. The moonlight shines through the broken window before her, casting shadows on her pale skin and outlining her protruding bones, shifting nervously beneath her skin. Her ashen brown eyes dart from one corner of the room to the next. "Well, what are you waiting for?" she whispered. "No better time than the present."

With a heavy sigh, Freyja readjusts the belt looped around her frail neck, pauses, and then steps off the chair. As the belt violently rips into her skin, she lets out an exasperated cry, her feet dangling helplessly above the floor. Instinctively, her hands plea mercy around her neck, and she tries desperately to loosen her chokehold. Her eyes begin to bulge out of her skull, her head feeling like a pressurized cabin. Blood pools behind her eyelids.

"Just fuckin' die, already!" The words float around in her mind, but she's unable to enunciate them. Her throat is engulfed by flames and her tongue is too large to swallow. Freyja's body convulses in the air and she can hear the blood streaming through her skull.

Through the fog, she sees Death stepping towards her, Death's face veiled by smoke and shadow. Cradling Freyja's head, Death lifts a dark glass to her parched lips, and she gulps frantically. "Give me your sweet, sweet wine," Freyja pleads. "I'm ready for you to take me home." She clutches Death's robes with two hands, her drained pallor shockingly white against the darkness of Death's clothes. Red wine spills down Freyja's blouse and cascades onto the ground, tarnishing everything it touches.

"Wait... this isn't wine." Freyja's eyes widen with the realization that Death did not come to liberate her with spirits, nor did Death intend on carrying her into the netherworld. It was blood. Blood dripping down Freyja's neck, into the crevasses of her throat, out of her eye sockets, between her outstretched fingers. Death drowned her in blood, and as Freyja saw clearly for the first time, she looked upon Death and saw the face of laughter, lined with malice.

"You've forsaken me," Death says. "There is no mercy for you."

The belt suddenly snaps, and Freya's body crashes to the ground. The moon illuminates her fallen form, her wispy white hair settling gently into the earth. Freyja then understood that as long as Death knows her name, she will never be welcomed into Death's arms. She will be deathless forevermore.