The Magnificence of Death

by Rhea Rainwater

“You’ve made quite the mess of the cosmic balance, darling. It’s the least I could do to stage your demise properly.” “My demise?”

In anyone elses hands this would be a romcom

It would never be enough. I’d bargained her curse for her soul, but it still wouldn’t be enough. Back in the middle of the Atlantic, I told her forever was a long time, but I never explained that—It. Wouldn’t. Be. Enough.

I envied the living, for they could die, and because they could die, they lived.

was Death. I was the end. I have been a bystander in the lives of others for far too long. I have watched as mortals lived and died, loved and lost, but it was always through glass, always from the outside.

She was the one thing that made me feel as though I wasn’t trapped in an endless cycle.

Fate told me it was all right to speak the truth aloud. To admit that I was a plague who dreamt of being a person.

“Death can’t die, Star.” "Why do you call me that?" I searched my memory, tracing back through every encounter, every glance. "It was a taunt, at first,” I admitted. “You were stubborn, bright, impossible to ignore. I didn’t know what to make of you.” I met her eyes. “But now… now I think it’s because that’s what you represent to me.” “A star?” “Not just a star. The star. The one thing bright enough to make even Death look up.”

“Because someone, somewhere along the way, taught you that salvation has to be bought. That rest is a reward instead of a right. But they were wrong.”

I pulled her into my arms and held her as if I was anchoring her to the earth, when really, she’d been anchoring me.

But tell me, which is worse? The villain who did not hide the darkness he carried, or the hero who weaved pretty lies, hoping good deeds might erase the blood on their hands?

It’s not the enemy’s blade that leaves the deepest scars, but the hand you once held.

Sometimes, I forgot. I forgot that Fate, Time, Fortune—even Death—weren’t human. That I was dining with cosmic beings, entities older than language, forces carved from the marrow of the universe itself. They called themselves Absolutes, as if it was both a title and a shrug. And yet, here they were, playing cards and passing bread, draped in flesh as casually as a shawl.

As for me, I do not know where I stand. Between blood and belief. Between love… and the law.

“You’ve spent your life in mourning, Astoria,” Gentry whispered, kissing her temple. “It’s time someone mourned you.”