Two dark cloaks stood above a milling throng, on a rather traditional cliff over dark, sticky fog.
None of the individuals saw our cloaks, or their true surroundings. In their minds, they huddled in coats, noses barely discernible beneath hats and scarves, puffs of shivering air escaping their lips as they waited for the alarm that signaled the start of the shopping melee.
None of the individuals saw our cloaks, or their true surroundings. In their minds, they huddled in coats, noses barely discernible beneath hats and scarves, puffs of shivering air escaping their lips as they waited for the alarm that signaled the start of the shopping melee.
"They've forgotten what they were thankful for just two hours ago," I chuckled, without mirth.
He raised a pale finger. The same pale finger that used to stroke my cheek. "Hush. It's not much longer."
I inclined my chin. "It's almost worth the cold."
His lips pulled back without a sound--I couldn't tell if he was laughing or snarling. The enigma characterized his profession perfectly. He'd walked the trail of the dead more fervently than I, allowed necromancy to shape his very bones. "What are you, alive?" he mocked.
I pulled back into my cloak. "Like you, I chose death long ago. But I'm getting distracted, like there's a glimmer I can't quite pick out from among them."
"Where?" he asked sharply, and I pointed downward to a particularly dark area at the edge of our cliff.
"Nothing glimmers there."
"Perhaps it's my excitement," I shrugged.
"Sometimes I don't believe you ever died."
"I don't believe it matters," I said mildly, as the alarm rang. The crush of holiday greed began. Like explosions of dandelion puffs, white wisps erupted from the surging darkness as the crowd stumbled forward.
I held out my hand and the wisps rose, blinked, shook, and responded to my gesture.
"Ah," I said softly, as a particularly bright one lit my palm. I gazed into its eyes, as though comparing myself beside it, as though it held something I wanted. With a sigh, I closed my fingers and tucked the soul into my breast pocket, close to my heart. Where there was no heart.
"Wistful, are you?" My companion's fingers pinched the tail of a wisp and stretched it thin between his hands, like taffy. A mosquito-like whine etched down my spine. I shook my head as it disappeared between his lips.
"This one was innocent. A child."
The grimace-that-might-be-a-smile spread again. "More power to you."
That might have been a joke. "I'm saving it for dessert."
A raspy noise came from his throat. Maybe even a laugh. "There is much to be thankful for... they began early this year. True love shows its black face."
"Like you know what love is," I said.
"I did once."
I measured him. Too many souls over the years? Were the last drops of honesty leeching out of him like blood?
"It's a thirst," he said.
I frowned. "Thirst signals a deficit of something necessary." In death, nothing was necessary.
"Things are necessary," he waved his hand at the crowd, catching another handful of tails. "Obviously."
"What things did you thirst for?" I kept my voice level.
This time I knew it was a grin. The grin I'd loved once upon a time. The grin I'd followed him into death for. It was not beautiful now.
"These," he held up his fist and crammed the souls to his mouth. "Freely discarded, freshly harvested power from the dead."
"These," he held up his fist and crammed the souls to his mouth. "Freely discarded, freshly harvested power from the dead."
A pang shuddered deep inside me. I'd known that. It's why I'd given up my heart when I died, so he could no longer have power over me.
What I hadn't seen, was that he'd never given up his.
I shrank back into my cloak and whispered silently to the bright soul in my pocket. "Let's you and I have a feast."
What I hadn't seen, was that he'd never given up his.
I shrank back into my cloak and whispered silently to the bright soul in my pocket. "Let's you and I have a feast."
