Chapter 2

The stench was nauseating. The fog swirling around the room parted like a curtain to reveal the Reaper standing in the corner.

She never did know if or when the Reaper would show up. Sometimes it would be to witness a mercy killing, to put whatever hapless creature out of their misery, and sometimes it was to witness life fighting back, and to give the soul a choice, remain a soul and belong to the Reaper, or live, and live life differently.

However, there was no victim, no other beings present besides her and the Reaper. The air stood still, and she could feel a humid mist begin to settle around the room. The dust particles even seemed suspended in mid-air, like suspended atoms of life.

The beam of moonlight shone through a broken window. This home had been neglected and abandoned a long time ago. It was a shack, perhaps this was once a bedroom, where she stood. The odor from the stained and rotting mattresses could kill someone, luckily, she wasn’t among the living.

Rats scurried across the floor, a slight breeze did nothing to help escape the humidity of the room. She raised her eyes to where the Reaper stood.

The Reaper didn’t speak, it never did. It just pointed the customary, symbolic, long scythe towards a sheet in the corner of the room. It was odd this sheet was startling white against the nasty molding background. It was hiding something, and she was immediately drawn to it.

Just as she began to walk toward the sheet, it began to fall. Behind the stark white sheet was a pristine mirror. No cracks, no dust, in perfect form, set against the dilapidated background of the condemned shack, it was out of place, it should not be here.

Just as you shouldn’t be here. The sound echoed around the room. The voice didn’t belong to the Reaper, it was always there, echoing and ricocheting off the walls and into her ears.

The screams brought me here, what do you mean I shouldn’t be here? I follow the screams, those are my orders. She never had to open her mouth, her thoughts were heard, always.

Do you think you were always this? The Reaper pointed the scythe at her, and for some reason she looked down at herself. She wasn’t flesh and blood, she didn’t have skin, rather her essence was the inky black of a shadow, and those shadows formed what could be considered fingers, hands, toes, a head, and so on.

You forgot where you came from, what you were. If you forget these things, you forget your purpose, then you are no longer any use to us. The voice hissed, the tone dripped with obvious displeasure. The Reaper slowly advanced toward her, making her take a step backward.

My purpose? I do what I am told, I go to where I am brought. Her steps backward stop, as she feels the mirror just behind her.

And that…the voices hiss, sounding like a choir, their words echoing in a multitude of tones…That is preciseeeely the problem. You’ve lossssst your way. The Reaper advanced. It’s long cloak and shroud billowed as it moved, silently, slowly. A bony skeletal finger reached out and landed on her shoulder.

At that moment, she began to feel. A numbing, freezing gust of wind surrounded her, she began to feel the cold warring with the humidity in the room. Her hands began to feel as if there were a thousand miniature needles poking at her. She looked down, and gasped. She could see muscle forming on her hands, bones and skin began replacing the shadowy wisps that had comprised her being.

What is happening? She began to feel pain, cold, and her head began to ache and throb.

Creation. The voices responded, just as the Reaper reached out and gave her shoulder a shove. She stumbled backwards, into the mirror, not shattering the glass, but falling through it. She fell, and fell, and fell…