“You found me quickly this time.” “It helps that I never lose you.” “Don’t you?” “And I never will.” I took her lace-gloved hand into my leathered one and kissed her knuckles. Years later, as I searched for her, I’d whisper the words into a songwriter’s ear, hoping that wherever my bride was, she would hear it and she would remember. Perhaps I’d find an under-qualified and unassuming author to attempt to string together this story as well. The tale of Death and her monsters, Death and her Devil. “Leather and lace,” Mortala breathed. “Always.” “Always.”
