Dedicated to Misha and Samael, my soul sister. <3
It was a summer afternoon—slow like molasses, with the kind of heat that melts marrow to mush. Death lazed on a riverbank, sharpening his scythe with a whetstone. He attempted to tan, which was difficult when you had the complexion of a corpse.
Something rustled in the brush. Death looked at the forest's edge to find a dirt-smudged girl, watching him from the crook of a tree. She had wild curls, umber skin, and fraying black boots laced to the knee.
Death glided over, plucked a brier rose, and offered it to her. The leaves withered in his grasp.
She studied the inky blackness of his robe, then swung down from her bower.
"A flower for an overcurious girl," he said, voice honey-sweet.
