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But Death did not need to be seen; he was to be felt. He was a weight upon the chest, or a collar buttoned too tight. A fall into frigid, lethal waters. Death was suffocating, and he was ice.
But Signa Farrow was a girl who could not die.
“You never asked for this to happen,” Signa whispered to herself as she braced against anxious onlookers. “You may have thought it, but thinking is not the same as doing. You are good. People could learn to like you. This is his fault.”
Her touch hadn’t killed the poor bird. Her touch wasn’t lethal. Unless… unless there was more to it.
“I think, for someone in as much pain as she was in, death might have felt like a reprieve.”
Life, she believed, would be much simpler if one had the answers all laid bare before them.
Signa had seen many spirits in her lifetime—too many, in fact—and knew that being in their presence would make one tired, and cold in a way that not even fire could ease.
If there was one constant that Signa could count on, it was that no matter where she was, Death would find her.
But Death wouldn’t touch her. He never did.
“You bear no responsibility for those deaths. Magda’s was the first life you took. Even I was not expecting it.”
With him, there was no pretending. Perhaps this was simply who she was.
There are people who would kill for money, Signa. People who will spin lies into sweet words and even sweeter smiles. You’d be wise to remember that.”
“Good night, Signa. I pray that sleep will find us well, and that we do not meet here again tomorrow night.”
“Grief is a strange thing, Percy, for no two people experience it the same.”
“If I have the powers you claim, why did they fail me when I got stuck in the fence?”
“Because you fear them. Because you fear me and my world, and that you may somehow be becoming part of it.”
“I don’t belong to that world.” “No? Then why is it that I’ve never met another so...
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She didn’t hate Death, not truly. And God, what a fool that made her.
“I have tried to leave you alone,” he continued. “I have tried not to care. To not get involved. But we are connected, you and I. Our fates—” “Fate can sod off!” Her temples pulsed with a blossoming headache. “I can determine my own fate without your help.”
“Whether you welcome this power or not is your choice, but this feeling—this world—could belong to you. You need only to take it.”
“Yes,” he admitted. “For many years I was alone, forced to spend my days watching the lives of humans, never able to interact.” “But you can interact with me.” “Ah,” he said, “so you see why I enjoy teasing you so.
“Stay out of my head,” Signa grumbled, though there was little bite behind the command. Not until you learn how to talk to me.
“Good night, Death.”
Good night, Little Bird.

