Snippet #1303467

Danse Mors, Death turned to Chilili and discovered a hunger that he sat inside him like a toad waiting for a fly. Perhaps it was her mortality. Being around other gods was frustrating because he could not simply end them. There was no sense of relief for the struggle of existence. But Chilili was so refreshingly vulnerable to him. It made him almost eager in her presence. “Maybe I'm taking the wrong approach,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “Perhaps it's too difficult for me to understand you... What am I to you but some unknowable concept? What is Time to you but an idea? What is Fate and Fortune to you but notions? And in that respect, what are you to us but an impression? It's a little frightening to see those abstract thoughts suddenly become real before your eyes, isn't it?” he continued, “I admit, I'm a little intimidated too,” His tone grew slick and unnatural. Often in his incarnations he had been confused with a devil and bargained with. And other times, too, he had to convince those that refused to let go of their lost lives to turn to him. Ghosts were his failures. Chilili was his new challenge. “Chilili,” he said, in a familiar tone, easing closer to her, “In the end... there is nothing to be frightened of... Whether you succeed or fail, the end always comes. The very people you save will die. This very universe will one day die, either naturallyor preternaturally. You fight a lost cause. That is something I understand because I fight for you... And in the end, whether you win or lose, you'll come to me, Chilili...” As he came closer, his tone grew lower, darker; a lurking beast in the shadow ready to leap. “It's effortless, really... to die... No test, no gods, nothing... a beautiful void...” he said, and left it at that. No matter how big or small, every living thing understood the language of Death. He was giving her the illusion that she had a choice and all he needed to do was wait for the answer.