"I don't know what I want," I said.
The moment the words left my mouth, I wished I could pull them back. Not because they were a lie but because they felt like an excuse.
Death didn't respond right away.
He stood still in front of me, watching, his expression unreadable. The silence pressed in, thick and uncomfortable.
"You say that," he said eventually, his voice calm, "but you would not be here if it were true."
I swallowed.
"This place does not open for curiosity," he continued. "It does not appear for boredom. And it certainly does not answer prayers that are half formed."
His eyes darkened slightly
"You came because you want something badly enough to risk being here."
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..
"Very well," he said at last. ""You will have three days. Three to decide what you truly want and are willing to trade for your desire. On the third night, the choice must be spoken."
"And if I don't choose?" I asked.
His gaze met mine, unblinking. "Then there will be no bargain. You will never see me again until the moment I come to take your life. No second chances. "
He stepped closer, close enough that the cold followed him. "This is the threshold."
Before I could move, the shadows surged upward, cool and precise, wrapping around my throat. I gasped as they hardened into metal, sealing themselves in place. A necklace rested against my skin, cold and pulsating.
At its center hung a symbol etched deep into the metal. A skull fused with an hourglass, grains of sand eternally spilling downward.
"This mark binds time to choice," Death said softly. "While it rests upon you, the bargain remains possible. When the sand runs out, so does my offer."
I reached for the necklace, but my fingers trembled before touching it. The metal pulsed once at the same rate as my heartbeat.
"Consider it a reminder," he said.
The moment his words faded so did Death himself. . He simply… unraveled. His form thinned into shadow, then into nothing at all, as if he had never been there to begin with. Even the coldness he carried was gone in a heartbeat.
I opened my mouth to speak, but the place around me began to fracture.
The ground beneath my feet shuddered, its edges blurring as though the world had forgotten how to hold its shape. The air folded inward, walls dissolving into streaks of gray and black. Light warped, stretching and snapping back in violent waves. It felt as if I were being pulled through a dream that had turned against me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, clutching at the necklace at my throat.
When the sensation stopped, the silence was different again, too familiar.
I opened my eyes.
I was home.
Living room stood exactly as I had left it. The faint glow of dawn slipped through the window, dust drifting lazily in the light.
I looked around, my heart pounding. "Hello?" My voice echoed back at me, thin and unanswered.
No one was there.
The house was empty. No footsteps. No voices. No sign that anyone had been home at all.
Slowly, I raised my hand to my throat.
The necklace was still there, the sand inside it flowing without pause. This was a reminder. Three days. I had three days to name what I was bargaining for and the price I was willing to pay.
Before, when I heard stories of bargains, they always sounded like a game. If you played it cleverly enough, you could walk away with everything you ever wanted. But now, standing on the edge of my first true bargain, it felt different.
It felt dangerous.
No—it had always been dangerous.
The legends say there are three kinds of immortals.
The first are the gods. They were born from belief and prayer, powerful and distant, watching over the world from above. Long ago, people worshipped them and built temples in their honor. But belief faded, and so did the gods.
The second are spirits and guardians. They are tied to places or memories from the past. Forests, rivers, shrines, old bloodlines. They are not as powerful, but they are closer to us. Some protect, some punish. They can be kind if respected, but cruel if angered.
The third kind are the immortals people fear the most.
They are not worshipped, and they do not want faith. Instead, they want what you have. They appear when you are desperate, and make you feel understood. Some legends say they lure you in just to take something from you, your luck, your memories, your happiness. Others say they offer bargains, giving you what you desire in exchange for something just as precious.
They can take many forms. Some appear beautiful and gentle. Others are frightening, so you know not to trust them. But no matter what they look like, they all want something.
Once a bargain is made, there is no taking it back. Regret comes too late, usually when you realize what you have truly given away. Some lose years of their lives. Others lose memories, love, or even themselves.
But as I stood alone, the house silent around me, one thought refused to leave me.
What did I have left to lose?
If a bargain demanded a memory, what memory would it take? If it asked for years of my life, what future would I be surrendering? Bargains are dangerous because they take what matters most.But in a city that had already taken everything, danger no longer felt like a reason to turn away.
However i wasn't going to make that deal today, not yet..
I sank down onto the edge of my bed, exhausted, when I felt the weight beneath my arm.
I frowned and pulled it free.
The notebook.
My heart skipped. I hadn't remembered taking it with me, but there it was, resting against my side .
I opened it or tried to.
It wouldn't budge.
There was no keyhole, no latch, nothing that would suggest how it was supposed to open. I ran my fingers over the shape, tracing its edges, hoping for some kind of clue. Maybe a hidden button, a tiny seam I had missed. Nothing.
A key, maybe, though I had no idea what kind of key it could be. Not metal, not physical… something else? A word, a touch, a thought? I didn't know. I wasn't sure how any of it worked.
The more I stared at the heart, the more certain I became that it wasn't meant to open on its own. There had to be a way.
But what could it be?
I tossed the notebook aside.
Whatever. I'd figure it out later. Right now, I was exhausted, and tomorrow I had to go back to work in a tavern. Staring at a book I couldn't open wasn't going to help me sleep.
I pulled the blanket tighter around me and closed my eyes, trying to push everything away. My mind still buzzed, but eventually, my body took over, heavy and sluggish, and I drifted off.
At first, it was quiet. Normal. Then I was somewhere else.
At first, there was only sound.
A steady clicking, slow and sharp, cutting through the dark.
Tick.Tock.
I stood still, listening. The sound was too loud to ignore, echoing through the space around me. I didn't know where I was, only that the air felt heavy, like the world was holding its breath.
Then I began to walk.
The forest revealed itself slowly, trees rising up around me, tall and close together. Their branches tangled overhead, blocking out most of the sky. Moonlight filtered through in thin streaks, pale and cold. The ground beneath my feet was soft with old leaves, each step swallowed by the earth.
Tick.Tock.
The sound grew louder.
I followed it without thinking, drawn forward by something I couldn't see yet. My legs moved on their own, carrying me deeper into the forest. With every step, the sound became clearer, heavier, as if time itself was waiting for me.
And then I saw it.
A massive wooden clock stood in the clearing ahead.
It was taller than any tree around it, its surface dark and worn, carved with deep cracks and symbols I saw earlier. The hands moved slowly, each second announced by the loud, hollow sound that had led me here.
Tick.Tock.
The clock had no face where numbers should have been, only an hourglass carved into its center, sand slipping endlessly downward.
I took a step closer.
The ground felt colder here. Still. Wrong.
"You're running out of time."
His voice came from behind me.
I turned.
Death stood a short distance away, shadows clinging to him like a second skin. His expression was patient, but his eyes were fixed on the clock.
I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out.
"The final day is coming," he continued. "And when the clock stops, so does your chance."
The ticking grew louder, faster.
Tick.Tock.Tick—
I woke up gasping.
My room was dark, quiet, familiar. My heart pounded hard in my chest as I sat up, breath shaky. For a moment, I thought I could still hear it—the ticking—but it faded into silence.
I reached for my throat.
The necklace was there cold and heavy.
The sand inside it was still falling.
Two days. Two whole days left. Not enough. Too much. I didn't know which.
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring at the necklace. The room was quiet. Morning light came weakly through the dirty window, pale and gray. Outside, the city looked the same. Wet streets shining in the drizzle, smoke rising from chimneys, distant voices faint in the air.
I got up, rubbing my arms to warm myself. My stomach growled, so I searched for breakfast. Stale bread and some cheese, just enough to quiet the emptiness in my chest.
By the time I stepped outside, it was pouring. It had been snowing for the past few days, so the rain felt sudden.
Cold sheets of water soaked my jacket and plastered my hair to my face. I pulled my hood tight and kept my head down.
The tavern wasn't far. I had to get there. Work had become my escape, a way to pass the hours without thinking but I knew my thoughts would slip back in. The necklace at my throat pulsed faintly, as if reminding me that time was running out.
The next two days passed in a blur. I worked from dawn to dusk at the tavern, scrubbing floors, washing dishes, carrying trays of ale, and serving a few scattered patrons who came and went like shadows. The rain returned both mornings, cold and unrelenting, soaking me to the bone, and by evening I was always stiff, sore, and exhausted.
Third day
The rain had picked up, heavier today, drumming against my jacket and soaking my hair within minutes. I quickened my pace, my shoes splashing through puddles. By the time I reached the tavern, I was shivering and soaked through. If I hadn't run, I might have ended up sick before the day even began.
I slipped inside, shaking off the worst of the rain. Ava was behind the counter, talking quietly to someone I didn't recognize.
They looked like a messenger of some kind. Ava glanced up, eyebrow raised, her expression unreadable. "Late again," she said lightly, though I could hear the edge in her voice.
"I got caught in the rain," I muttered, brushing off my jacket.
She sighed, tossing the rag onto the counter.
"We don't have many customers today. So you'll have extra cleaning chores."
I groaned quietly, already guessing what that meant.
"Start with the floors," Ava said, pointing toward the long wooden planks that ran the length of the tavern.
"Wipe them down from one end to the other. Don't miss a spot. And after that, the tables, the counter, the chairs, everything."
I grabbed a rag and started with the tables first, wiping down the sticky surfaces one by one.
I tried to keep my mind on the work, pushing the necklace at my throat out of thought, but the dream still lingered like a shadow behind my eyes.
Ava came over and clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Here," she said, handing me a mug of ale. "Take this to the last table. They've been waiting."
Once she handed me the mug of ale to take to the last table, Ava stepped back behind the counter and returned to her conversation with the messenger. I lifted the mug carefully.
The liquid sloshed slightly, but I managed not to spill it as I walked toward the table. I walked up to their table, trying to keep my hands steady as I set the mug down. The ale sloshed slightly, but I managed to keep it from spilling.
Then one of them spoke. "Where did you get that necklace?" I froze.
My hand lingered over the mug. "Um… what are you talking about?" I asked, trying to keep my voice casual, though my heart had suddenly leapt into my throat.
The boy leaned in closer, his hood shadowing most of his face. "Do you know what that necklace means?" he asked, his voice low, urgent.
"This… this is dangerous. You shouldn't be wearing it."
"I… I don't know what you're talking about," I said, trying to step back and walk away, hoping to get out of the conversation before it got any worse. But before I could move, one of them reached out and grabbed my hand.
His grip was firm, almost painful, and it made my pulse spike. "Don't you ever make a bargain with them," he said, his voice low and urgent, like he was warning me of something deadly. "Ever."
Before I could step away, he tightened his grip for just a second. "Look," he said quietly. He pushed back his sleeve. The skin along his arm was blackened, not like a bruise or dirt, but wrong.
Dark veins spreading beneath the skin, crawling up toward his elbow like something had burned him from the inside out. It looked dead. Rotten. I felt my stomach twist.
"This is what they did to me," he said. His voice didn't rise, but it didn't need to. "And this is the least people give." I stared, unable to look away.
My throat went dry. "Others lose memories," he continued. "Years. People they love. This?" He flexed his fingers slowly. "This is mercy compared to what they can take." He let the sleeve fall back into place and finally released my hand.
I swallowed hard, my chest tight, and forced myself to take a step back. "I… I have to go," I muttered, not meeting his eyes, and turned away. My hands shook slightly as I walked toward the kitchen, toward the sink piled high with dishes.
I plunged my hands into the soapy water, scrubbing and rinsing, trying to focus on the mundane rhythm of washing plates and mugs. I tried to shake off the twisted nausea rising in my stomach after seeing that hand. It looked awful, but he insisted it was nothing compared to what they usually take.
After a few minutes, I paused and glanced up. The table where the three men had been… was empty. They were gone. This was odd.
The day dragged on, each scrubbed mug and wiped table blending into the next. By the time the last floor was polished and the final chair returned to its place, my arms ached and my back burned. I slumped against the counter, dripping wet from the morning rain that hadn't fully dried on my jacket.
Ava emerged from the back, her expression unreadable as she wiped her hands on a rag. She leaned against the counter, studying me.
"You worked well today," she said quietly.
I froze. My brain stumbled over the words. Worked well? She had never said anything like that before.
"I— thank you," I muttered, unsure how to respond.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I said automatically, like I always did.
She froze for a moment, and then her expression tightened. "There won't be a tomorrow," she said quietly.
My stomach dropped. My heart thudded painfully.
"W-what… what do you mean?" I stammered, my voice catching. She's firing me. Why?
Ava shook her head, and for the first time, I noticed the exhaustion in her eyes. "No… it's not because of you. You worked well. Better than I could have asked."
I blinked, confusion mixing with dread. "Then… why?"
She hesitated, biting her lip. "The tavern hasn't been making enough money. I tried to cover the debts, tried to keep things going, but I can't. I can't pay you or anyone else anymore."
I felt my throat go dry. "So… I'm… out?"
"Yes," she said, her voice soft, almost regretful. "I'll pay you your last wage, but that will be the last time. You no longer work here. I'm sorry."
The words hit me like a blow. My hands trembled as I gripped the counter.
"I understand," I whispered, even though inside, my chest felt hollow. There was nothing I could say to change it.
Ava gave me a small, tired nod, her expression softer now. "I'm really sorry."
I stepped back, gathering my things, the rain still pounding outside. I let out a long, shaky breath. No tomorrow. The tavern is gone.
The walk home was heavy. I thought of my father first—he would notice, of course. He always notices when there's money missing, even if he doesn't care how I earned it. And my stepmother… she would scowl, demand answers, maybe blame me before even asking what happened.
I tried to rehearse what I would say. I lost the job. I'll… I'll pay for what I can, but there's nothing left. I'm sorry. Each version sounded hollow, pathetic. None of them would care about the apology.
By the time I reached the house, the door was wide open, the faint smell of dinner lingering in the air. My stepsisters were inside, laughing quietly, probably celebrating another of my father's so-called victories. I didn't flinch. I drew in a steady breath and stepped inside.
"The tavern… it closed," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
My stepmother's lips curled into a cold smile. "You're no longer needed here," she said flatly, voice cold and commanding. "If you can't earn, then leave. Take your things and get out."
I spun around, my hands gripping the edge of the doorway, and finally let the words I'd been holding back spill out.
"This house… this house was my mother's! She left it in my name which you forced me to sign away to give to you!" I pointed at her, voice cutting. "You took what wasn't yours, and now you act like you own everything!"
My stepmother froze, her face twisting with disbelief. "What nonsense are you spouting now?"
I didn't back down. "The wine, the dinners, the money you all spend, you survived off me! Every coin my work earned went into this house, into your comfort! And now you kick me out?"
"Don't you dare speak that way to me or to any of them!" my father bellowed, stepping forward, face red with anger.
I squared my shoulders, heat flaring in my chest. "Why not?"
"Because I am your father!" he spat, voice trembling with fury.
"You?" I laughed bitterly, the sound harsh in my own ears. "You haven't been my father since the day I was born. You never cared about me! The only thing you ever cared about was the money I made!"
His face hardened.
"Maybe that's because you were never truly mine."
The words landed heavy, and for a moment, I just stared at him. Nothing else needed to be said. Without another word, I turned and ran toward the door, then stepped into the rain. Cold droplets soaked my hair and jacket, but the sting of it barely registered.
I ran, the streets slick and empty beneath my feet, my shoes splashing through puddles. My thoughts jumped around, replaying everything that had happened, everything I had lost, and everything I had to do. The rain plastered my hair to my face, and my jacket was soaked through, but I barely noticed.
"I know what I want, and I'm willing to give it," I said quietly while holding the necklace.
I touched the necklace at my throat and froze. The chain had broken. Tiny grains of sand spilled from it, slipping through my fingers and falling to the wet street. I stared at it for a moment, letting the small weight disappear, and felt a strange clarity. Whatever it had been holding onto, whatever it had meant, it was gone now.