From Yesterday

Pale fingers pulled the bag closer to her body, curling against it.

It had been a few centuries, but she still missed him. Semetary. Her brother.

A piece of parchment almost fell from her pocket, but she snatched it before the wind could take it.

Scrawled on the paper in black ink was "THE KINGDOM OF L'EAUNDA" in the old man's odd writing style, the old man who had let her stay in his barn for the past few days until he received said information.

That was where she was to go, where she would find information on that man. He told her to first go to the castle, and she'd receive further instructions from someone there.

The ground below her was cold, and she only had Semetary's trench jacket for protection. She pulled the collar closer to her neck and self-consciously tugged at the sleeves, even though she was technically alone.

She felt something crawl on her leg and she instinctively kicked it off, knocking her knee into the bag, rattling it's contents.

"Soon," She dug her fingers into the soil, before closing her pitch-black eyes and drifting into a sleep she didn't even need.

---

It was morning again, and she lifted herself to her feet. It was still a few days journey before she could reach the portal that connected Earth to Aetatis Limbo; she had read that while it wasn't exactly limbo, it became a place for - as the story books told it - lost souls. Not quite dead, but not quite alive. And whatever unlucky human stumbled into the portal.

And from the portal it should be another few days, if she was lucky.

But she would withstand it - she knew she would.

Because, to her chagrin, she was now an immortal. Hunger wouldn't kill her, but she still ate. Her lungs no longer served a purpose, but her intake of breath became a reflex.

Her kind came from the catacombs of Hell, or a reborn soul with the potential. Her kind was relatively unknown, but her boss...whenever her kind was mentioned, he was the one a person thought of. He was feared. He was respected.

He was death personified.

She was a reaper, a courier of souls, the official greeter to the "pearly white gates of Heaven" or the "fiery depths of Hell", mostly the latter.

She was free to walk through realms, needlessly kill whom she pleased - including other "guests" of Lucifer - but the only taboo was killing another reaper.

However, she wasn't interested in the killing of innocents.

Her only desire was revenge.

She turned to the bag and gently unzipped it, from end to end.

Inside the bag was the full six foot three skeleton of her brother.

She pressed her index, middle, and ring fingers together, having only the pads touch. They glowed white for a second before she removed her right index.

The skeleton grew stiff before he used his boney hands to push himself off the ground.

Malice smiled.

"Hey, Semetary, have a nice nap?" His skull - which had a long scar on his left cheek that nearly reached his eye paired with a much smaller one crossing near the bottom - nodded.

He picked up the body bag that he had crawled out of and slung it over his shoulder, holding out his hand.

When she grabbed his hand, he went to tug her foreword but she resisted. His eye sockets looked back at her.

"Aren't you cold, Sem?" She shrugged off his black jacket before he could put up his hands in protest. It was a thick material with a high collar and the sleeves rolled up nearly six times to fit her, and the underside was red.

She slipped his arm in, walked behind him and stood on her toes in order to cover his boney shoulders, and fit his other arm in. She grinned up at him.

"See? Much better!" Semetary shook his head before he let her slip her hand in his. She was nearly skipping, continuously glancing at their intertwined hands.

With the coat just reaching over his knuckles...it almost looked as if his hand had skin. As if he was still alive.

She didn't know if Semetary knew her disappointment everytime she did this, everytime she saw his blanched bones.

He shifted his body bag onto his shoulder again, and walked in step beside her, tightening his hold on her hand.

Flesh or bone, he was still her brother, and she still loved him no matter what.