"I could ask you the same thing. I think the answer might be more interesting."
"I came to see- this body's wife. The woman that the man who once moved this form loved."
He does not seem like a demon. She cants her head.
"Why have you come here?" he asks again.
Her lips quirk in that hysterical smile she doesn't mean, and she shrugs. "My father. My brother."
"They are here?"
She points to the candle, the incense.
"Ah. You mourn them."
She nods.
A man might have shifted uncomfortably, or may have reached to comfort her. He may have stood, he may have changed the subject. Justice only sits.
A lovely name and idea, Justice. But she isn't sure it was real.
"Your body loved her?" she asks to change the subject. "This woman?"
"Yes."
"But your body is dead."
"Yes."
She purses her lips. "… Do you need a body to love, do you think?"
"I do not know."
She watches him. He doesn't blink and he sits unbearably straight and still. He is not a man, she thinks, and maybe that is what pushes her to lean in - or perhaps it is her ongoing fair with death, how it wraps coiled around her and doesn't want to let go.
She touches her fingers to his chin, and he lets her turn him to her.
"Maybe this can provide answers," she says, and she leans in and touches her lips gently to his.
There are no answers there for her, only thin, dry lips that leave the taste of death and Veil lingering on her mouth. The answer comes in how he closes his eyes, how he considers as she pulls away. He raises a hand almost wonderingly and touches at his mouth.
"I… remember this," he says at last. "Thank you."
She doesn't know what he is except for death, but he has never offered her a deal, or offered her anything at all. Her father taught her well. He is no demon, whatever he is. So when she rises, she has no fear of turning her back to him.
"Good luck, Justice," she says.
"Your name?" he asks, and she feels herself flushing.
"It doesn't matter."
"I wish to know it."
She considers a moment. She could give him a false name, Rhia or Vera. She could tell him Faith or Hope, but neither are qualities she bears with her daily. So instead she only smiles and says,
"Bethany."
"I am glad for our meeting, Bethany," he says. "… would you light a candle for me, as well?"
"Of course."
He doesn't smile, but the small incline of his head is enough. She curtsies slightly.
And then she retreats from death and out into the too-clear air of the city.
Death and the Maiden (3/3)
"I came to see- this body's wife. The woman that the man who once moved this form loved."
He does not seem like a demon. She cants her head.
"Why have you come here?" he asks again.
Her lips quirk in that hysterical smile she doesn't mean, and she shrugs. "My father. My brother."
"They are here?"
She points to the candle, the incense.
"Ah. You mourn them."
She nods.
A man might have shifted uncomfortably, or may have reached to comfort her. He may have stood, he may have changed the subject. Justice only sits.
A lovely name and idea, Justice. But she isn't sure it was real.
"Your body loved her?" she asks to change the subject. "This woman?"
"Yes."
"But your body is dead."
"Yes."
She purses her lips. "… Do you need a body to love, do you think?"
"I do not know."
She watches him. He doesn't blink and he sits unbearably straight and still. He is not a man, she thinks, and maybe that is what pushes her to lean in - or perhaps it is her ongoing fair with death, how it wraps coiled around her and doesn't want to let go.
She touches her fingers to his chin, and he lets her turn him to her.
"Maybe this can provide answers," she says, and she leans in and touches her lips gently to his.
There are no answers there for her, only thin, dry lips that leave the taste of death and Veil lingering on her mouth. The answer comes in how he closes his eyes, how he considers as she pulls away. He raises a hand almost wonderingly and touches at his mouth.
"I… remember this," he says at last. "Thank you."
She doesn't know what he is except for death, but he has never offered her a deal, or offered her anything at all. Her father taught her well. He is no demon, whatever he is. So when she rises, she has no fear of turning her back to him.
"Good luck, Justice," she says.
"Your name?" he asks, and she feels herself flushing.
"It doesn't matter."
"I wish to know it."
She considers a moment. She could give him a false name, Rhia or Vera. She could tell him Faith or Hope, but neither are qualities she bears with her daily. So instead she only smiles and says,
"Bethany."
"I am glad for our meeting, Bethany," he says. "… would you light a candle for me, as well?"
"Of course."
He doesn't smile, but the small incline of his head is enough. She curtsies slightly.
And then she retreats from death and out into the too-clear air of the city.