Pen - Part 4

When Death perished, Pen placed the robes over their shoulders. Slowly, they let them fall around their too narrow frame, shrouding them in a cold embrace. Their father had left without warning. There was a slight waver to the world as Death passed on but nothing to say it had been expected. Pen had been having dinner with him, laughing around the koi pond as the stars skipped down an iridescent slide When Pen had turned to suggest they open the doors further to hear their laughter, he had simply been gone. The suddenness of it had taken their breath away. The snap that had taken him left Pen feeling small and far more confused than they assumed was necessary.  After all, what was the reason? Death guided souls to their final resting place. No one was supposed to guide him. And while there had been nothing wrong with Death himself, the inevitable day that made everyone so very alive, still came. His body disappeared from Pen’s world before his laughter had even left the air.

Pen had screamed. After the initial panic had worn off, they had ran around the empty palace, looking for their child like some sort of scared child. It was a game. It had to be a game. Death was hiding, lurking around the corner to pull Pen into his arms and swing him around like he had when they were young. Death couldn’t just die. It was one of the unwavering verity’s of the world.  

But the shadows had begun to gather. The spirits had started wandering forward and clinging onto Pen’s skin. Pen had shaken them away, shooing them so they would go back to their pools. But as Pen continued to stumble from room to room, screaming for their father, the spirits persisted. They dug their claws into Pen’s skin, holding Pen down and dragging them to the floor. Fear pooled deep within their gut as the spirits refused to let them breathe, and it was as if their life was being taken from them. Bit by bit, the plans Pen had so meticulously crafted began to slowly slip away. Consumed by the spirits of greed. Taken by the angry souls that wished to still be alive. The irony was, Pen understood them the most.

Pen fought. Hours. Days. Minutes. They didn’t rightfully know. But they fought. At some point, they didn’t remember what they were fighting for. Just that it needed to be done.

Yet, none of it mattered. Fate, the spirits, maybe even Death itself. That’s who won. Pen was the rejected loser in the situation because no matter what they did, the mantel of death was still bestowed upon them.

It was a funny thing, really. Losing a parent. There was a consistency with having them around. One that provided this bubble that wasn’t always apparent. But the second that parent was gone, the bubble was popped, and the air was sucked from the room. 

Pen couldn’t understand the world around them. Let alone what they were supposed to do. The only thing that kept echoing in their brain anymore was their father's last words.

“We need more koi for the pond.”

Pen didn’t know why, but they assumed that Death’s passing should have been something profound. The idea of the first Reaper gone without a sound had a sort of sad note to it that felt terrifying if dwelled upon too long. It was an omen, at first. With bated breath, Pen had waited for the world to end. But it was just Pen’s world, really. That was the thing in contention. 

Sitting on the throne, Pen looked around. Already, the palace was changing. The spirits were taking over because Pen didn’t have the energy to control them. They were forming new walls and little steps that led to nowhere.  Pen let them. They didn’t care. Nothing in this world was worth the energy to care. They didn’t even bother to let themselves grow to the size of the throne itself. Instead, they stayed small. A child playing among daddy’s things.  The pointed hood was loose down the line of their back, dripping with power. One of the most coveted positions in the universe was now theirs and for the life and death of them, they couldn’t understand why anyone would desire such a job.

When Night finally entered the room, there was a shift in the air. The spirits began whispering, receding to the edges of Pen’s vision. Golden warmth chased away the blue chill of any of the more stubborn spirits, driving them back to their pools with a little nudge. In the back of Pen’s mind, they knew that Night was doing their job for them. The spirits had always liked Night better. Mostly because Night allowed the spirits to be reborn. Most realms did not.

When the spirits quieted, a form sat down beside them. Just on the arm of the throne. A pair of arms wrapped around Pen’s shoulder, pulling them close. But Pen only felt numb. They didn’t bother to look. Whether this was a man or a woman didn’t matter.  There was no one else this could be but Night.

Their Night.

Their Night who had been gifted a realm and promptly had become obsessed with the occupants down below. Their Night, who had been enamored with life and the people walking through it with all the gusto and will of a soldier just trying to carry on. They couldn’t stop. The call of the lights, the music, the smells of food. It took them away from Pen day after day.

Pen knew they would lose Night. Maybe not now. Maybe not even tomorrow. But eventually.

It hurt with the same amount of pain as the suddenness of losing their father.

But as Night held onto them, they couldn’t let these thoughts prevail. Instead, they quieted their mind, letting each one bounce off of them with a resounding plink.  The cloak continued to wrap around them, manacling them to destiny.

And Pen no longer fought.

“Merripen?” Night asked. 

Pen didn’t know how long they had sat in Night’s arms. They had yet to feel warm. “Yes, old friend?”

There was hesitation. Like Night didn’t want to ask the question. So when it came out, it was small and unsure.

“Are you sad?”

A tear shook through reality as moisture coated their cheek.  “Yes.”