The realm of death was silent.
Not the peaceful silence of sleep, nor the hollow quiet of an abandoned place, but a silence so absolute that it felt alive, watching, listening, waiting.
She stood where he had left her, blue flames casting faint shadows across the black stone floor. The bell's echo still lingered in her ears, each chime reverberating through her bones.
Eternity.
The word terrified her more than death ever had.
"You will not leave me standing here forever," she said finally.
Her voice sounded small in the vast hall.
Death turned.
He had already begun to walk away, his long robes whispering against the stone. At her words, he paused and looked back, silver eyes unreadable.
"You are not a prisoner," he said. "Not yet."
"Comforting."
One corner of his lips curved faintly. "You are braver than most."
"Fear has never saved me," she replied. "Silence has."
He studied her for a moment longer, then gestured with a subtle movement of his hand.
The hall shifted.
Stone melted into shadow. The floor beneath her feet softened, reshaping itself into smooth black marble veined with faint silver light. Walls rose around them, forming a chamber vast yet strangely intimate, illuminated by floating orbs of pale glow.
A bed stood at its centre.
Her breath hitched.
Not a bridal bed.
Not adorned with red silk or blessings.
It was simple. Dark. Unadorned. As if sleep itself were a luxury here.
"This will be your chamber," Death said. "You may rest."
"And you?" she asked before she could stop herself.
His gaze flickered to her face.
"I do not sleep."
Something in his tone made her chest tighten.
"Then why give me a bed?"
"Because you are alive," he said quietly. "And this realm is not kind to the living."
She hesitated, then asked the question burning inside her since the moment he had claimed her.
"Have you ever been married before?"
The air stilled.
Even the floating lights dimmed, as if aware they were trespassing on forbidden ground.
"No," he said at last like a fading light.
"Then why me?"
He did not answer immediately.
Instead, he turned away, moving to the edge of the chamber where the shadows thickened. He stood there, tall and solitary, as if the darkness itself obeyed him.
"Your soul was promised," he said. "and it was long ago."
Her fingers tightened at her sides. "By whom?"
"By fate."
She laughed softly. "Fate has been cruel to me."
"Yes," he agreed. "That is why I intervened."
She stared at his back. "By killing every man who came close to me?"
"They would have suffered worse if they had they lived."
"That is not mercy."
"No," he said. "It is restraint."
She did not know what to say to that.
Instead, she moved toward the bed and sat, the unfamiliar softness startling after the cold stone beneath her feet earlier. The gown she wore rustled faintly, its dark silk warm against her skin.
"Will they mourn him?" she asked quietly.
"Your mortal husband?"
"Yes."
"For a time…," Death said. "Then they will forget."
Her lips pressed together.
"He did not deserve to die."
"No one does."
She looked up sharply.
He had turned to face her.
Silver eyes met hers, and for the first time since they had met, she saw something unmistakable there.
Weariness.
"You speak as if you care," she said.
"I care for balance," he replied. "Not for individuals."
"And me?"
He did not answer.
Instead, he raised his hand.
The chain around her wrist pulsed faintly, warmth spreading through her veins. Images flashed across her mind briefly, disjointed moments she did not recognize.
A battlefield soaked in blood.
A child crying beneath a darkened sky.
A pair of his hands reaching for her as she fell.
She gasped, clutching her chest.
"What was that?" she demanded.
"A memory," he said. "Not yours alone."
Her heart raced. "Then whose?"
"Ours."
The word sent a shiver through her.
"You said you have never been married."
"I have not."
"Then how can there be an ours?"
His gaze softened, just slightly.
"Because," he said, "this is not the first time you have stood at the edge of my realm."
She stood abruptly.
"That is impossible. I would remember."
"Not if you were not meant to."
Her pulse thundered in her ears. "Then tell me."
He stepped closer.
Each step closed the distance until he stood before her, close enough that she could feel the cold radiating from him sharply, but not unbearable. It was like standing near snow beneath moonlight.
"I cannot," he said. "Not yet."
Anger flared, mingled with fear. "Firstly, you bind me to you, drag me into death itself, and still keep secrets?"
"Yes."
"Why…?" she said with her tears dropping down her cheeks.
"Because if you remember too soon," he said quietly, "you will hate me."
Her breath caught.
"I already do," she whispered.
Something in his expression fractured.
It was subtle; so subtle she might have imagined it, but his fingers curled slightly at his side, as if restraining an instinct.
"You are entitled to your hatred," he said. "I will endure it."
She laughed bitterly. "How noble of you."
"Nobility has nothing to do with it."
"Then what does?"
He hesitated.
The hesitation alone was answer enough.
Before she could press him further, the chain around her wrist tightened sharply.
Pain flared quick and bright.
She gasped, staggering.
Death was instantly before her, one hand gripping her arm, the other bracing her waist. His touch was cold but steady.
"Do not fight the bond," he said urgently. "It will hurt you."
Her breath came in shallow gasps.
"Then remove it!"
"I cannot."
"Then loosen it!"
His jaw tightened. "I am trying."
The pain ebbed slowly, leaving behind a strange warmth that spread from her wrist through her chest, pooling in her heart.
She realised then how close they were.
Her hands rested against his chest.
She had expected Death to feel hollow.
Instead, his heartbeat thrummed beneath her palm; slow, powerful, controlled.
"You… have a heart," she murmured.
His body went still.
"That is not something mortals should notice."
She looked up.
Their faces were inches apart.
For a moment, neither moved.
Something unspoken stretched between them; fragile, dangerous, intoxicating.
"Will you kill me someday?" she asked softly.
"Yes."
The honesty stunned her.
"When?"
"When the bond ends."
"And when will that be?"
"When you choose."
Her breath hitched. "Choose what?"
He leaned closer, his voice was barely more than a whisper.
"Whether to return to the living… or remain with me."
Her heart pounded.
"You would let me go?"
"If that is your will."
"And if I stay?"
His eyes darkened, silver deepening into something molten.
"Then," he said, "death itself will change."
Silence fell again.
Slowly, she pulled her hands away from his chest.
"Leave me," she said.
His gaze searched her face. "Are you afraid?"
"Yes," she admitted. "Not of you."
"Then of what?"
"Of wanting to stay."
Something like a smile touched his lips; not triumphant, but sorrowful.
"As you wish," he said.
He turned and walked toward the shadows.
Before he disappeared, he paused.
"Sleep," he said. "I will watch over you."
She stood back on the bed, staring at the dark ceiling.
Her wrist still glowed faintly.
Her heart would not slow.
And for the first time in her life, the thought of being alone frightened her more than death ever had.
Somewhere beyond the chamber, Death stood watching her and wondered when the moment would come that he would no longer be strong enough to let her go.