Page 5 of Architecti
I figure I can give him another minute.“Out of interest, what was the d—” I ask.
“The love of my life.I wanted her to notice me.”
I knew it.I shake my head.“Did she?”
He shrugs, a few tears spilling out.“For a while.”
“Yeah, it’s never long enough.Never works out the way you want.It’s why we shouldn’t fuck with fate.”
“Hindsight,” he sniffs.
Couldn’t agree more.
“Do you have any last words?”I ask.
He sobs again.Falls to his knees, almost taking me down with him.I’m growing tired of this.He kisses my boots, screaming and pleading.Honestly, if a hot woman kissed my boots, I’d be wet right now, but this is vile.
I shuck him off.“Stop it.You’re embarrassing yourself.Death comes for us all, eventually.”
“But not like this.Please, not like this.”
I unclasp my scythe.Some of the reapers I know choose enormous weapons, I prefer the handheld blade.This one is special, too.I stole it from Ignatius.The bone-white edge catches the moonlight in whorls like stardust.It’s always been beautiful; it’s why I took it.
It’s more intimate and personal to stare into the eyes of a lost one before you rip their soul from their body, so I force myself to lock onto his.
May I never forget.
May I never judge.
For one day, it will be my eyes, and Ignatius looking into them as he reaps my soul.
What’s odd is that reaping this many souls should resign me to my fate—and trust me, I’ve reaped enough of them to believe in fate.And still, I won’t give up.If anything, having taken so many souls is pushing me to fight harder.I don’t want to share these mortals’ fates.I refuse to accept that a year from now I’ll have to stare down eternal darkness at the hands of Ignatius.
I pick Thaddeus up by the collar and read him his final rites.“Whisper your last truth and I’ll carry it to the dark with me.”
His mouth quivers, like his lips are trying to find the words buried in the evening air.I bring the scythe to his neck.
“It wasn’t worth it.Love.Not this way.It never felt real.I think a part of her always knew.Our love entropied, and I sold my damn soul for nothing.”
I nod, understanding in that bone-deep way only someone who made the same mistake as you can.
Selling my soul wasn’t worth it either.
“Thaddeus Crowhurst, all debts must be paid, in silence or soul.May the weight of your choices carry you gently down.The gods forgot you, the demons won’t.Rest now.Omnia mors aequat.Death renders all equal.”
I slide the scythe through his neck, tensing and pushing hard when I hit his soul spine.It has to sever the cord, or I won’t remove his whole soul, and that is not a fate I’d wish on anyone.
I shove hard.His mouth opens, a silent scream whispering into the air.His eyes widen and dull, his body growing heavy in my arms.
The scythe slips out the other side of his neck and I drop him to the ground.I wipe the blade on my trousers.Not that there’s anything there.The blade doesn’t cut skin, it only cuts soul.But habits are hard to break, and all blades need cleaning, whether it’s from blood, brains or a beautiful soul.I glance down at him, all crumpled and piss covered.He seems small.
Poor bastard.
Death isn’t kind to anyone, least of all the grinners.
A white cat appears, all fluffy and orange eyed.It’s cute, though the scornful sneer it’s giving me is not.I kneel down to stroke it.It purrs and rubs around my legs, its head butting my hands for harder chin tickles.It’s pure white, like a ghost, save for a single black blemish over one paw, like a sock.
“You’re a sweet thing,” I say.
