Fate was a fool if he thought that she would ever leave Death. She loved him like the winter, resolute and all-consuming. Loved him with summer’s steadiness, and with the ferocity of nature itself.
I’ve missed you, too, she told him while she still had the chance. And there are a million other things I’d rather talk to you about, but I don’t know how long we have.
She heard Death’s sigh as though he were beside her and willed herself to pretend that he was. That if she only reached out, the icy chill of his body would creep into hers. I take it you’ve spoken with my brother?
I need you to tell me who Life is, Signa said by way of an answer, hoping to bypass any argument they had no time for. I need you to tell me everything.
For a long moment there was only silence. Signa hesitated, wondering if Fate’s side of the agreement had already hit its time limit. But when she focused, she could feel Death still lurking in the corners of her mind, biding his time before he answered, Fate was all I had for many ages. Our relationship was not perfect—he has always felt that I should interfere with the human world less, while I have always suggested that he interfere more. That he listen to the requests of the souls whose lives he weaves, and take them into account. But Fate believes himself to be the perfect artist. Once a story is woven, he moves on to the next and doesn’t look back. We didn’t always agree on each other’s methods, but at the end of the day we were all each other had. Until, one day, we weren’t. It was here that Death paused, seemingly to gather his thoughts. Each subsequent word felt raw, as though this memory was costing him something great.
There was a woman like us, he continued. One who had always been in this world in one form or another. Her name was Life, and she was radiant. Fate was immediately taken with her, and they fell in love before my eyes. Life would create a soul, and Fate would give it purpose. He would weave their story before her. They were kinder stories then. Woven with more care because Life wanted her souls to thrive, and Fate wanted her to be happy. For her to smile. She had a beautiful smile.
Signa’s shoulders stiffened a little, and Death at once clarified, I loved her very much, Little Bird. But it was not romantic. The older we became, the more I began to realize that Life was not like me or Fate. Although he and I were ageless, lines creased her eyes and mouth. She began to tire, and there came a time when the new souls she could generate were few and far between.
One day, she pulled me aside to tell me that it was time for her to go. She told me that life was not meant to be infinite, and that she would return to us in a new form soon enough. For there is no life without experiencing death. She asked me to take her, but first, she wanted one more day with Fate. One more day to say goodbye.
Of course Fate realized what was happening, Death continued, each word seeming to stick to his teeth like gristle. He demanded that I refuse her request. He made it clear that if I didn’t, he would never speak to me again. He couldn’t see that I was mourning, too, and in that mourning… I was susceptible.
When Life came to me the next day, I refused her, and it was the most selfish thing I have ever done. For Life was stronger than any of us, and she knew it was her time to go. She would reincarnate, but none of us knew where or what form she would assume—nor did we know how long it would take for her to find us again. We’d spent a great deal of our existence without her already, and neither Fate nor I wanted to risk that again. But it’s as I said already—one way or another, it was her time.
The more I resisted it, the worse the situation became. Signa kept still, hardly breathing as she clung to his every word. I heard the call of her death. I knew it was time. Still, I resisted until it was pent up inside me and burst, and I gave her the worst imaginable death possible.
The plague, Signa. The Black Death. I was trying so selfishly to keep her alive until I couldn’t manage any longer. She was the first victim, and then it spread and spread—and, God, how it spread. Do you know how many people died because of my selfishness? Do you know how many innocent lives were taken because of my mistake?
She wished that he was there beside her. That she could take his hand and hold him while he shared this story that was so much worse than she’d expected.
Twenty-five million, he said at last, and Signa felt the severity of such a number like a blow to her stomach. In four years, I claimed twenty-five million innocent lives. All because I was unwilling to let her go.
You loved her, Signa told him, hating that they could speak only through this strange bond that existed between them. We all do ridiculous things for the ones we love. It was why she’d protected Blythe. Why she’d made this deal with Fate, just to have the chance to speak with Death.