Prophet

Sadie wakes up blinking and confused. The couch beneath her doesn’t have the familiar worn sheets of her bed, she can’t smell breakfast or hear her mother’s chattering. It comes back in a rush as someone touches her shoulder. She puts a hand to the wound in her side, presses carefully at the edge of the hole but feels no pain.
“Sadie.”

It’s just Death. She smiles in the direction of his voice.
“Hi.” She feels him settle next to her, legs brushing. Whenever they touch she feels a spark, like his power can’t help but reach out for her. She senses how he reins himself in, body humming with energy.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you.”

She’s smiling at him again, open and trusting. She puts up a hand, fingers splayed. “May I learn your face again?” He leans into her palm without speaking. She’s taking longer this time, now that she knows what he is. Starts at the back of his neck, runs her hand through his hair and to his ears. This gets a surprised grin from her.

“Your ears are pointed!”
“Yes, I’m aware.” She chuckles and continues, putting a palm to each temple, thumbs crossing on his forehead.
“Is your skin...cracked?” she asks slowly. Death goes very still, believing this to be the moment she runs from him.
“Yes.”
“Huh. I thought that was wrinkles.” Sadie smiles brightly, touches his eyelids.

Death relaxes, letting out a breath he doesn’t need and didn’t know he was holding. She squeezes the end of his nose, giggling. It surprises a laugh from him as her hands move to his mouth, feeling him smile. He stops when she yelps, yanking her hand back. A line of blood wells from her index finger.

“Ouch. You pricked me.” Sadie shrugs, wiping the blood off on her dress and returning to his face. She’s more careful this time, puts two fingers against his lips. “Do you have fangs?”
“Yes.” This seems to fascinate her.
“May I?” she asks, motioning to his mouth.
“Of course.” She presses a finger to a canine, face lighting up. Her skin tastes of lavender.

“That is the coolest thing ever. Do I get any?” She puts her other hand to her own mouth, feeling the flat teeth.
“I doubt it.”
“Ah, well.” She takes her hands away, cupping his face. “Thank you for that. I know it can be a little uncomfortable.”
“It’s alr-” He disappears suddenly, getting one last glimpse of her surprised face.

Sadie can feel him disappear under her hands. Not pulling away, just...gone. The pads of her fingers are tingling, and the air feels odd, almost thick. If her ears weren’t so sensitive, she wouldn’t be able to hear the momentary susurrus of voices.
“Death?”

The feeling and voices fade, leaving the place silent. Sadie is not afraid, because she’s already dead. Nothing else can happen to her. Still, she’s nervous. She stands, waving her arm in front of her face. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

There’s no response, so she sighs, feeling her way around the room. She assumes Death was called away for his job. Sadie wasn’t expecting him to be with her all the time anyway. She hopes he’ll have some books in Braille to keep her entertained. She suddenly wants tea. She probably doesn’t need to eat anymore, but it’ll comfort her. Bring back good memories. She’ll find the kitchen somehow, and hope that Death has tea in his cabinet.

Death is on his knees before God. It’s a position that’s fairly familiar, although Death doesn’t enjoy it. He waits, wondering when God will speak, try to punish him for Sadie.
“Death.”
God’s voice is always the same, deep and even. The visage changes, though. Right now God is a sexless human, pale and slight, dressed all in black with long pale hair.

Beautiful, because God knows how important image is. Death does not hate God. In fact, he loves God with an intensity that’s almost ferocious. They understand each other well, and that is why they’re constantly bumping heads. Like brothers who spend too much time together, they squabble and mock, but there’s love, and respect.

Death bows his head. “My Lord. Why have you called me?”
God leans down from the throne, brushing hair out of eyes that shine gold.
“You know why I called. The girl, Sadie.” God’s mouth is pierced, Death notes. He almost wants to smile at his friend’s attention to detail.
“What about her?” That earns an eye roll from God.

Death has never been one for giving straight answers.
“She was meant to die.” God doesn’t control fate, not like before. Things happen and God guides them. Death still clenches his fists.
“I don’t want her to.”
God’s face softens, which annoys Death even more than the sternness. “Death, my friend...”
“Just let me have this. Please. I will not ask you to remove her blindness or make her like us. Just let her stay with me.”

God sighs, leaning back into the throne. Death doesn’t like pleading, especially in front of the angels, but he’ll do anything for Sadie. Destroy worlds for her. Give up his power. Even beg on his knees before God.
“So, you’re beginning to see why we give so much for the mortals,” God says quietly. Death nods, waiting. “She may stay, my friend. Anything to make you happy.” Their meeting is over. Death grins, disappearing in a swirl of cloak.

Sadie feels the air change again, the whisper of voices. She’s just finishing up with the tea, and she turns, cupping the pot in her hands. “Death?”
“I’m back.” He sounds slightly breathless, but satisfied. She smiles towards him, offering up the tea pot.
“I made tea while you were gone. Is that okay?”

She sits across from him, reaching for the cups and filling them. Her movements are careful but sure. She’s evidently done this before. Sadie’s white dress is spotted with blood, hanging off one shoulder. Her hair is a little tangled, and her skin is very, very pale. There’s more blood on her hands and dirty bare feet.

To anyone else, Sadie would look ghoulish. Death only sees her smile, her gentle hands on his face, that she relaxes and laughs around him.
“It’s perfectly alright.” She doesn’t ask where he was, which is good. He doesn’t know how to explain it to her.
“Would you like some?” Death takes the cup from her and sips, pleasantly surprised by the taste. Subtle, sweet, it calms him.

She drinks her own tea and smiles, content. Death realizes that he likes this. It’s pleasing, drinking tea across from a pretty girl. She leans forward conspiratorially, raising an eyebrow. “I think your kitchen is magical.” He’s not expecting this, and he laughs. She reaches forward without thinking to touch his face, feel the shape of his laughter. It makes her smile.

“I’m serious. I was looking around for tea, and it appeared in my hands. Like you do.”
“Excuse me?”
“When you come and go. There’s this heavy feeling and I hear voices.” She must be sensitive. Most people couldn’t notice that.
“Ah. Yes. You only have to ask for something.” She reaches across the table again and takes his hand.
“Thank you.” He doesn’t know how to tell her that he’s the one who should be thankful.