I turned back slowly.
At first, I didn't understand what I was seeing. My mind rejected the image before it could fully form, as if instinctively trying to protect me from something it already knew would be wrong.
He was standing there.
Exactly where the blue light had been hovering.
My breath stopped.
The hallway, the staircase, the flickering rows of small golden lights, everything faded into the background, swallowed by the impossible reality in front of me.
It was him.
The man from the portrait. The voice that I heard earlier talking to the being with twisted, deformed legs.
There was no mistaking it. The pale hair, the sharp lines of his face, the striking red eyes. But whatever resemblance remained ended there, shattered by a presence so profoundly different it made my stomach twist.
The softness was gone.
Completely.
Gone was the vulnerable expression, the faint warmth, the quiet humanity I thought I had seen. What stood before me now felt older, colder, and deeply, deeply wrong.
His eyes were no longer shimmering.
They were predatory.
Dark red, heavy with something that made my skin crawl. There was no curiosity in them. No gentleness. Only a calculating, unsettling intensity, like a creature assessing something it already owned.
Or intended to.
My body refused to move.
Even my fear seemed frozen, trapped somewhere between disbelief and horror.
As if he could sense my fear he gave me a cruel smile in return exposing the sharp edges of his teeth.
Hungry amusement was all I could get from that smile.
"Well…" he said.
Before I could react, he moved.
Fast.
Far too fast.
One moment he was few inches away. The next, he was directly in front of me, the shift so sudden my brain struggled to keep up. A sharp gasp tore from my throat, but I had no time to step back.
Cold fingers closed around my jaw.
The grip was firm but not crushing, holding my face in place with effortless control. The temperature of his skin was startling, not warm, not even cool, but deeply cold, like something that had never been alive.
He tilted my head slightly to one side, then the other, examining me with open, unnerving interest. His gaze moved slowly across my face.
Assessing.
Judging.
The smirk never left his lips.
"It's been a long time since I've had visitors," he murmured, his red eyes narrowing slightly as if studying a particularly curious object.
His thumb shifted faintly against my cheek.
"Especially female ones."
Before I could gather my thoughts, before I could even fully process what was happening, he moved again.
With a sudden, effortless motion, he turned me.
My back hit the wall.
Cold stone pressed against my shoulders as his grip on my jaw tightened just enough to make resistance pointless. The movement stole the air from my lungs, my pulse spiking into a frantic rhythm.
I tried to pull away immediately.
My hands shot up, fingers grasping at his wrist, pushing, twisting, doing anything to break free.
Nothing.
His arm didn't budge.
Panic surged hot and sharp through my chest. I shoved harder, my movements growing desperate, but it was like trying to move a statue. His strength was absurd, completely disproportionate to his lean frame.
"Let go of me—"
The words barely left my mouth before his thumb slid across my lips
I froze from shock.
His touch was slow, deliberate, tracing the shape of my mouth with unsettling familiarity. The coldness of his skin was jarring against the warmth of my face. A shiver went down my spine.
His thumb continued its lazy path, circling my lips as though he had all the time in the world.
"You're no great beauty."
The words landed with unexpected bluntness.
"But…"
He leaned closer.
"but you're lucky I'm not a picky one"
My stomach twisted.
He inhaled slowly, deeply, his gaze darkened, something unreadable flickering behind those crimson eyes.
His thumb stilled against my lower lip.
His face was impossibly close, too close. I could feel the faint warmth of his breath, see the sharp edges of his teeth just a breath away. His red eyes bore into mine, studying me.
I froze. My chest pounded so loudly I thought he could hear it. Every instinct screamed to run, but my legs were pinned against the wall. My free hand slid shakily to the inside pocket of my jacket.
Cold leather brushed my fingers, and there it was , the small knife I kept for work, tiny and ordinary, but my only chance.
I gripped it, feeling the solid weight in my hand.
There was mint in his scent, but underneath it something darker, richer... Cherries. It was an odd combination.
I waited for the right moment. For a second, I thought I couldn't do it. But I forced my hand forward, slow and deliberate, feeling the cold steel slide from my pocket.
The knife was small, yes. But it was enough.
My breath hitched. His lips were inches from mine. I didn't hesitate this time.
I shoved it forward with every ounce of strength I could summon, aiming straight for the space beneath his ribs, right through the heart I could almost feel beating beneath his skin.
His eyes widened briefly, a flash of shock, but just for a heartbeat, before the dark, cruel amusement turned into anger.
This was so wrong In every possible aspect.
His crimson eyes burned with sudden, lethal intensity.
Before I could react, his lean fingers shot up from my jaw to my neck, strong enough that I couldn't breathe. His grip didn't crush, not exactly but enough that panic surged through every vein in my body. My feet scrambled against the marble floor, but it was useless.
"You naïve little fool," he hissed, voice low and amused, almost casual, as though this were an inconvenience rather than a life-threatening moment. "Do you think that little… stabbing trick would kill me?"
Before I could catch my breath, before I even realized what he was doing, his grip on my neck tightened one last fraction of a second. Then, with a sudden, brutal motion, he flung me backward.
I hit the black marble floor hard, the impact knocking the air out of my lungs. Pain spiked in my ribs, my head, my arms. My hands scraped against the slick surface as I rolled slightly, trying to push myself up, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
And then I looked up.
He was already there, standing over me.
The knife.
It was still embedded in his chest, but he removed it effortlessly, twisting it free as though it were nothing more than a pin in fabric. The small steel blade gleamed faintly in the dim light, still wet, still sharp.
He held it for a second, inspecting it lazily, before flicking his wrist.
The knife spun through the air toward me.
He crouched down in front of me, close enough that the shadows of his face stretched across mine.
"What should I do with you?" he said, voice low, slow, each word deliberate. "I don't let mortals get away with such idiocy you know."
I lifted my chin, heart hammering, refusing to show fear. "You deserved it you monster."
He tilted his head, amused, like he was genuinely curious. "Oh? And for what, pray tell?"
I hesitated and then the words tumbled out before I could stop them.
"For… whatever you were trying to do," I said, my voice trembling despite my effort to sound steady.
He paused, his crimson eyes narrowing just slightly, as if he were savoring the words. Then, slowly, that dangerous, amused smile spread across his face, broader than before.
"And what was I trying to do?" he murmured, leaning in just a little closer, his voice low and teasing, carrying that uncanny mix of menace and amusement.
My chest constricted. My pulse spiked. I felt heat rush to my cheeks, burning across my skin. My heart hammered so fast it felt like it might leap out of my chest.
I forced myself to stand, my legs trembling from adrenaline and fear. I grabbed the knife from the marble floor, still pointing it in his direction, and took a careful step forward. Then another.
He didn't move.
He only watched me, that faint, knowing smile still carved into his face, as though my terror was the most fascinating thing he had seen in centuries.
The blue light floated behind me, gliding silently across the black marble floor, keeping pace no matter how slowly I moved.
"Go away!" I hissed, waving my free hand toward it. "Leave me alone!"
The little flame didn't stop. Just followed, gliding closer, hovering in the air as if it were… amused.
I stomped my foot, swung my arms, tried to shoo it back with more force. Nothing worked.
"He seems to like you," he said, casually.
I stopped in my tracks, spinning toward him, my chest still pounding. "He?" I exclaimed, disbelief sharp in my voice.
He leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, crimson eyes glinting with that same unsettling amusement.
"Can't you tell?" he asked, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "In your mortal world, blue signifies boy and pink… girl. Gender norms, or whatever you like to call them."
I stared at him, utterly baffled. "What do you mean, he? Is that… what is that?!" I gestured wildly at the blue light hovering behind me, still drifting silently, following my every move.
He chuckled softly, a low, dangerous sound that made my skin crawl. "I already told you, It's not what but who.
My stomach dropped. "Who?!"
"Yes," he said, crouching slightly to meet my gaze, as if speaking to a particularly slow but amusing student. "A little boy, I assume. Age of… four or five."
I blinked. My mind refused to process it. "A… child?" I whispered. My hands shook slightly as I gestured again toward the blue light. "It's a… it's a child?"
"It's a soul," he continued, calm, deliberate, as if explaining something mundane, "of a child. Forever frozen in time."
I swallowed hard, still backing away, my hands trembling around the notebook. My voice was barely more than a whisper, but I had to know.
" If this is the soul of a child… then who are you?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he pushed himself off the wall, standing slowly.
My breath caught. He was taller than I had realized. Far taller.
He tilted his head, that faint, wicked grin curling his lips. "I'm the one who collected him," he said softly.
My throat went dry. "What do you mean… 'collected'?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.
He didn't answer. He just stared at me, as if it were obvious that I should already know.
The realization hit me like ice. I took a shaky step back, then another, though my legs felt like lead.
Fear and confusion twisted together in my chest. "You're… you're Death?"
His grin widened, slow and deliberate.
"Humans are so slow," he said, amusement lacing his voice. "I was beginning to lose faith in you. Which is ironic, given the setting."
There were stories my mother used to tell me about Death. She once said she had seen him or something like him, the night she was giving birth to me. At the time, I thought she meant she had come close to dying, that it was some poetic way of describing near death. But I could never have imagined that Death could be… a being. A being that looked almost human, yet felt entirely, unnervingly different.
And now… now I understood just how wrong my assumptions had been.
Everything around me felt wrong. The walls, this hall, the flickering lights that seemed to burn and twist in ways they shouldn't.
And him.
Standing there in front of me, crimson eyes gleaming, that menacing smile curving his lips. Every instinct screamed this was just a dream and yet..
My legs began trembling as I tried to take a step backward.
But before I could even take three steps, his hand shot out like lightning.
It clamped around my wrist.
He tilted my wrist, his long, lean fingers brushing against my palm, tracing the faint lines etched there.
"Abandoned," he murmured, almost to himself, "by your family."
My stomach dropped as a flinched at the sudden exposure of truth.
He leaned closer, his voice low and deliberate as if he was reading a story from a book. "A father who never loved you… and a mother who is dead. And a stepmother who despises you."
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. His grip didn't loosen. My pulse hammered violently in my ears.
"Never been loved… or truly happy," he said, almost conversationally. His gaze scanned my palm lines like he could see every hurt, every disappointment, every private fear etched into my life.
"You lived a pathetic twenty years of life," he continued, the words slow, deliberate, cruelly accurate.
"But," he said slowly, letting the words hang in the air, "I can change that."
I froze. My mind spun. "Change… what?" I whispered, voice trembling, hoping I wasn't imagining what I'd just heard.
He tilted his head, that faint, predatory grin tugging at his lips. "Everything you've suffered from. Every heartbreak. Every disappointment and betrayal. I can change it all. "
Part of me wanted to laugh or scream at the absurdity of it. But another part felt oddly intrigued.
"How?" I breathed, barely able to form the word.
"By making a deal," he said smoothly, letting the words stretch out, "or a bargain, as mortals like to call it."
I blinked. "A… bargain?"
"Yes," he murmured, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I can make any of your wishes come true. Anything you desire… I can give it to you."
My chest tightened. My mind raced, heart hammering. Anything? Could it really be true?
His eyes narrowed slightly, sharp and knowing. "But," he added, voice dropping low, slow, deliberate, "there's always a cost. You cannot receive without giving something in return."
I swallowed hard again, gripping the notebook tighter. My pulse thundered in my ears. "Something… back?"
"Yes," he said, tilting his head and letting that predatory grin widen just a fraction. "Every wish, every desire, comes with its price. And sometimes… the price is more than you expect."
I lowered my eyes to my hands. They were trembling, no matter how hard I tried to still them. My mother's voice rose in my mind, clear as if she were standing beside me. I remembered sitting on the edge of her bed when I was small, listening as she spoke softly, like the world itself might be listening too.
Never make a bargain with someone who asks for more than you can give.Never trade something you cannot get back. And never deal with beings who do not live by human rules. She had looked serious when she said it, more serious than I had ever seen her. I hadn't understood then. I only knew she was afraid.
Fear. I used to fear many things when I was younger. As I grew older, that fear slowly faded. There was simply less to lose. Yet even now, a small trace of it remains, like a reminder of what life could have been, if it had been rewritten..