Wake Up Call [Svv]

[Sylvias]

A cold breeze drifted into Castle Attikka; an open window allowing a few wet leaves to drift in. The veins in the dead plants seem to be clinging to the marble floor, trying to hold on even though the draft of air continued to shove. Finally, the leaves appeared to give up and exited into the next room down, where another window had sat open. Just like one of those leaves, Sylvias tumbled into the room, yet with more grace. The chill of the wind had a sudden bite to it, as though making room for the Death Fey. While he had originally came to the Castle to greet the Dark Queen, he had found something else on his ‘To Do’ list.

It was a game of cat and mouse. The mouse could hide wherever he pleased, but the cat -- far more superior -- would always find him. And like a mouse begging for crumbs, Sylvias had found who he was looking for. Underneath one of the hallway’s tables, laid a lump. If there had ever been a living Fey to cause rage in a Death Fey, it would have been Svv. Out of all the souls Sylvias had ever encountered, Svv had been the biggest of all disappointments. Not only had he ruined the contract he had with the previous Queen, but he made it quite obvious that he was going to avoid Sylvias.

Svv knew the deal: as long as the Dark Queen ruled, his soul would be protected. It just so happened that the Fissure began and Syl became extremely busy. The orders always came first, before any personal qualms. Darkness shrouded the blue of Sylvias’ eyes, engulfing the white completely. He had entered the Castle with the intent to reap a soul, and he had planned on doing it slowly. While Death Fey were not capable of befriending the living, he had enjoyed using Svv as a pawn, to have attachments that he could never have.

Death approached the table, and although he did not need to kneel, Syl crouched down to place his left hand upon Svv’s side. Sylvias’ touch was not like any others, it seemed to bring a physical pain, as though there were needles. “Svv,” he said, the voice sounded low, as though a growl, “I want you to be awake for this.” He had wanted to see the Death Fey’s eyes as he took the boy’s soul, he had wanted to experience all of the pain, because it had been awhile since he actually had fed.

The high from the Fire Ruler’s contract would not be able to stop the urgency of wanting Svv’s soul. And he would take all that he could, unless the Dark Fey found some excuse or reason good enough to convince him that the old Dark Queen’s death was in Sylvias’ favor.

[Svv Mrk'ss]

Sleep was donned as the epitome of peace, and was blessed to only those that were guiltless. While Svv, however, was never one to feel guilt, since his birth he had been cursed to a dreamless life. No sense of peace could ever come from being forced to listen to the qualms of the world, and some nights were worse than others, it seemed on nights such as the full moon, the woes of the world were heavy and pointless.

Svv tonight, had a whisper of something darker claw at his thoughts. He had been waiting for Death, knowing that it would happen eventually. At one point, Svv thought he would go crazy from it - this waiting. Even went to follow the Queen of Ice into her Wastelands, only to left alone once more. Perhaps his Death was growing fat on all the souls that were being harvested, Svv, instead of threatened, should have been thanked. Despite this thought, he gave up any idea of running, any idea of evading Death as he had for centuries, and simply accepted it. Svv was not afraid to die, only to die without ever really living. Even in death, Svv doubted he would even escape this endless, vapid, noise.

Svv, in his own opinion, was still a corpse.

He had his head in his arms, subconsciously blocking out the sound in his ears, though he knew it was useless. It sounded like a scream, though of a strange young nature. A fey that died a horrible death, far too innocent to have deserved it, Svv ignored the noise with apathy. Empathy was compromise, and Svv never compromised with the dead.

Svv inhaled sharply upon this touch, not really expecting it, but not really surprised either. The pain was relished, however, the Sound Fey raising his head slowly, his bi-colored eyes seeing nothing, peering off a thousand miles as they looked through Sylvais. The moon light cast spider shadows across his face, and Svv did not let a single disturbed thought flaw the features of his stone-like mien.

Svv embraced the feeling of needles, only one thing could make Svv recoil, it was not this Death's Feys touch, it was the noise that seemed to be coming from Sylvais. Ever word spoken had the echo of another, and Svv did not give way to this information, not even to himself.

Svv turned his head, reaching back a large hand to place it over Death's in much the same way one embraces a lover, coveting the feel of skin. The pain was surely unimaginable. All ready, Svv was looking paler than usual, but he did not mind it.

He wrapped a hand around Death's and lifted it to his lips, a gentleman's greeting, or perhaps an apology.

"It's been too long, Sylvias. I thought perhaps you had lost interest, a sad thought indeed. I am glad you did not disappoint, or am I the disappointment?"

[Sylvias]

Beneath his hand he had felt Svv’s soul stir, trying to pull away from inward cold. There was very little good aspects of Svv’s soul, but earlier Sylvias looked past it and found that the soul was merely misguided. Death had never really been fond of Svv’s past life, finding it almost pathetic to live in such ways. The boy’s soul merely wanted to be quenched, to follow the wordless voices. Although he had no feelings for this living Fey, he allowed the last moments to be preoccupied by words.

Already he noticed the pain approaching, Svv merely strong. The lump twisted outward, coming to life and taking notice that the last few minutes would be precious. The Death Fey glanced to the set of eyes, and wondered vaguely what it was like to hear with only sounds. For Sylvias did live in a world shrouded with darkness, and he could not see the beauty of life no longer, there was still a sense of need for observation. Svv now was the longest living soul to live through one of his contracts, and Syl knew it would be better to act as though this one was a trophy.

A hand fell upon Sylvias’, but he did not look down. The warmth of life seeped into the artificial flesh, soaking it up with greed. It was when Svv’s fingers curled around his lithe fingers, did he finally glance down to watch them reach toward Svv’s lips. Somewhere in the depth of his core, he didn’t want to see someone as fascinating as Svv go. This world was rather boring, and the chase would cease to exist. At the name of Sylvias, his lids twitched.

A strange thought trickled it’s way in: what would it be like to feel at this moment? Then it over came with another, of ‘Do I really need to do this?’ Yes, for a contract had been broken. While his methods of practice were over ruling him, Sylvias for once removed his hand out of Svv’s grasp. He had wanted no part of the Dark Fey to experience anymore unnecessary pain, and would opt for a death that was peaceful. After all, those served to the Death Fey out of willingness, needed some respect.

“Gravely, you are the disappointment,” his voice spoke out, this time mimicking a sort of calm tone. Svv did appear to be accepting of his death, but Syl knew no one truly wanted to let go. Any other Fey he would have just simply took the soul and left, but he had so many, and felt no need to rush. The weight of his own body felt heavy, perhaps from the labor of the fissure, and Sylvias lowered himself to his knees. “Can I ask why?”

A Death Fey was often curious.

[Svv Mrk'ss]

The second voice that laced Death's apathetic tone was quieted by Svv's touch and even the Sound Fey thought his own heart skipped a beat in the moment of silence that was heavy between them.

There had been something hushed deep within Death, and Svv could only think he imagined it.

Svv knew that Sylvias was not capable of such poetry as expression, or the smoothness of being drunk by a lover. It was Svv that was the artist, the being that found beauty in strange places, not this dead thing that kneeled beside him. Yet, he thought he felt it. That single moment that even quieted a man that only wanted to destroy.

And then Sylvias pulled away, and Svv heard his own heart beat again, and the voice of thousands returned to destroy Svv's thought process once more. The endless noise returned.

..what had that been, this murder buried a mile deep?

The shadow on the wall revealed Svv's curiosity, the silhouette revealing two protrusions rising from Svv's back as though waking from a slumber, now more alert than before. Svv'Vstr kept his hand to his lips, as though still embracing Sylvias, trying to grasp the smoke once more. He peered downcast in thought. He saw that his bow-foil lay on the floor a foot away, his only lover so far away from him.

Explaining this predicament to Sylvain was like trying to explain to Svv what color looked like, or the beauty upon gazing at a rose. It was difficult, if not impossible, and Svv'Vstr conjured his answer as best as he could, echoing the meanings dryly, the words having little substance, even to himself.

"Perhaps, it is best explained as an understanding. I saw a weakness in myself, and I got rid of it. Perhaps I thought the deal would suffice, if I could succeed quickly enough.." he trailed off, the thought of Her made Svv always want to forget. She had become more than a tool, more than a means to an end, for once Svv saw her ending as being a pathetic one, he could only think he might as well give her proper rights, a proper ending.

Not even Svv could admit that he had grown to care too much about her.

He looked up, having a moment of understanding. The quietness he had felt just now was a feeling of nostalgia, the thing buried deep in Sylvias had a moment of fondness, as though remembering a similar embrace of a loved one. Svv brought his head up, peering off to Sylvain's left, as though trying to find him.

"...So tell me, Sylvias, did you feel like I stole her from you? Or are you disappointed that the game ended too soon?"

[Sylvias]

Having an eternity to spare affected how Sylvias did things. There was no physical exhaustion to bear, but he continued to sit on his knees, eyes intent on watching Svv’s movements. A whisper of a voice came to Syl’s ears, and he was hearing it in the other male’s soul. It reminded him of bells going off, trying to sing a song that appeared disjointed and yet harmonized. Usually Fey who sacrificed themselves for another had this type of beat. The Death Fey searched the boy’s past once again, finding no such fondness, and yet many images of the Dark Queen that was bind to contract.

She had been a fair woman, he noted in Svv’s memory, having a hard time managing his own -- long brunette hair, eyes that pierced through many, and calm. The disappointment only came from the fact that he had lost her soul; lost the contract. Ruler’s souls were a gift to the Death Fey, and he failed to do his part. Luckily for her, the soul reached accession.

Focusing on the girl’s image caused him to look at his hand again, staring at the stains upon the white of flesh. It didn’t seem right to keep a hand like this dirty, but he couldn’t find any space inside of him to care. He for some reason, had tried to focus his attention back on Svv, attempting to be eager to hear the boy’s explanation. From the start to the end, there was nothing the Death Fey could do to fathom a weakness like that. Syl, as though amused, smiled at the answer. The air continued to be cold and empty, aware that the Dark Fey were often unaffected by the chill like the Fire or Water were.

“Weakness,” he verified the word for himself. Souls were not weak by nature, but Svv’s was. It wasn’t a very full soul, but it had a lot of experience in the world’s drama. Sylvias wanted to simply close this boy’s soul out for good, finding the excuse to be irrational. He had expected an answer he never heard before, usually thrown off by Svv’s impulsive nature. There was none of that this time. Just as he was about to reach over for the Dark Fey, he stopped. A question.

He hated questions, but with Svv having few moments to spare, he would answer. Not to mention the name seemed to drive into him like a screw, causing his eye lids to twitch once more. “You took my contract,” he said honestly, flatly, “And it was too soon.” Lifting his right hand, he reached for Svv’s form, “Anything else?”

[Svv Mrk'ss]

"Only everything," Svv answered mockingly, sounding tired, staring and still searching, staring and not ever meeting eyes with Sylvias, incapable of doing so.

Questions and questions were what counted the minutes for Svv, and perhaps he was just too enthralled to even notice his life trickling away. Death was an impatient thing, even all of his years of waiting and Svv could only take them all for granted. Though causing the Fissure of Woe, the Sound Fey thought, at least he had amounted to something, though it left him thoroughly unsatisfied.

A thirst to quench.

But he wanted to hear the voice again, now greedy, if only in his last moments he would have that peace again.

Perhaps there had always been this attraction to something he could not have, something that could not possibly look at him with the same eyes, or find him quite as appealing as Svv found Sylvias, if only in the shallow sense. What would it be like to keep this death waltz going? What did it take for it to stop?

The strings that pulled Death Fey to Svv was felt, knowing that any moment that Sylvias would reach for him, and like the rising and falling of wheat, he would be gone. Harvested in the spring under moon light, with nothing but tendrils of stranger's thoughts for company.

He was about to die and for a second, Svv decided to go against his character, to listen instead of shut out. A moment of perfection.

Svv'Vstr did not wait, he instead reached out a hand to grasp the one that had been robbed of him. He sat up, to mirror Sylvias's position, his wings rising high in a last moment of vigor, he pulled Sylvias to him, wondering how many seconds he had, miliseconds -how many breaths he had left to breathe before his life smote out.

He turned his head into Syl's ear, wrapping his other arm around Death's waist, crushing his body into his own and holding Sylias's lithe hand with a dying man's grip. Svv listened through the noise desperately and repeated in a whisper, wondering with runaway pleasantries if this would be his last words, if he had even heard the name spoken correctly, "..What a kiss she must have given you, for a soul to remember in death, Sylvain. "

[Sylvias]

Everything? There was never a general idea for those close to Death. Living Fey usually thought fondly of their beloved, of their family, and would plea with Sylvias to leave a message behind. Those fools had believed the Death Fey's promises to deliver their last words, but the Living never received it -- anything to get them to simply shut up. Ideally, Death would enjoy a struggle, but not with Svv. Instead, the world seemed to be filled with occurrences Syl could never understand.

The hand outstretched for the Dark Fey was taken ahold of. Syl did nothing, mildly curious why living Fey had reached for Death so willingly. Only the brokenhearted succumbed to suicide, and not once had he seen a glimpse of Svv's dispersion. He allowed his form to be taken a hold of, his gaze watchful of the boy's wings. Beneath Sylvias, Svv's soul was gleaming like a topaz, colorful, and with a code. Was this what a disfigured soul felt like near the end -- a chance to feel beautiful?

Death planned to take Svv away in this embrace, but before he could reach out for the soul -- there was a name. Sylvain. It was like toxic to the Death Fey, and in an instance he was the one to struggle in the Dark Fey's arm. Something was eating at his flesh, prickling him like a thousand knives and he wanted to get away from the intangible experience. Using his mind to inflict pain on Svv, did not work, for he was drowning in faces of a girl, of her warm words and laughter.

"LET GO OF ME!" the yell belonged simply to a young voice, not to someone who had dwelled in the darkest places of earth -- not a Fey, nor monstrous. Finding the muscles in his arms to be weak, he had shoved Svv off with great force, the cold in the air moving out from the two of them. The fog over Sylvias' eyes appeared to be flickering like a candle, blue replacing what was once black.

[Svv Mrk'ss]

Two harsh lacerations carved the floor as Svv was thrown back with the strength of a mortal. He ran his one wood-like hand across the Attikan tile, to brace for impact, he had his other hand over an ear, a lost cause, all ready a black liquid trickled down the lobe and onto his neck.

Svv was deafened by the sound, recoiling now, he forced himself to lean up against the wall, placing both hands on his ears now, he gritted his teeth with the strength to break the oral bones.

It was a sound that vibrated with the strength of an earthquake that only the Sound Fey could feel, sure that every bone in his body would break like glass. A million emotions unlike any Svv had ever felt as person himself, let alone from something else. It was vast, encompassing and obliterating, and for a moment Svv could only cringe. Every muscle in Svv's skinny body constricted, and for a moment Svv looked more like a writhing skeleton, now silently screaming.

It was a thousand heart beats later that Svv finally uncurled onto his back, lying on the floor, his chest rising and falling as though he had not breathed for the past few minutes. Svv had his hands over his face now, catching his breath and finally, a cackle escaped his lips, loud and echoing off the walls manically. "Hahaha, wow, death-- " he said loudly, catching his breath, "--actually LIVES."

[Sylvias]

Between the darkness, a small light had shown, but it wasn’t a contrast that could be easily defined as black and white -- simply it was a shade of a gray, a female’s face etched with such profoundness. Sylvias had seen this face somewhere, but it wasn’t the image that affected him; it was the pinch driving into his form. The Death Fey moved his right hand up to his left shoulder, pressing his own palm into the bone. His lids dropped, almost closed, but his vision still focused on Svv through the spaces of his lashes. Between the present in past, he couldn’t process the way Svv’s body convulsed.

Sylvias pressed the pads of his fingertips into his shoulder, driving the tips inward, nothing but subtle pressure was there. No more tingling, simply hand to shoulder. He listened to the way Svv’s attire shifted on the ground, pulling with the shaking, until it all stopped. The acidic poison was somewhere in this room, and Svv knew what it was: a name. There was absolutely, for no reason, this should have happened! An image that was no longer him was exposed, and it had writhed to get free. Sylvias’s lids snapped back upward, as though he had suddenly got all of his energy back.

Very slowly did the dark fog begin to creep around the white and blue of his eyes. For once in his reign, he could not respond or code what Svv was saying. It didn’t make sense: Death simply is Death. While it was custom to name Death, so some could greet it; he truly didn’t relate. Laughter over took him and Syl shifted his head to the right, awkwardly observing the situation.

The thought to reap Svv’s soul had left Syl’s to do list. “I’m simply time,” he confirmed what was said in the hall that night, “I am simply here to receive.” Sticking to his true format, yet still not denying he was alive. Sylvias stared at the Sound Fey, saying nothing else, moving not a single inch, waiting.

[Svv Mrk'ss]

There was no hearing, only ringing, high pitched and omnipresent in the darkness. The ringing was not the same as simply deafness, it was voices, a thousand perhaps, distant and vapid, never ending.

_{letsournewhomeforestsseeournewambrosedeathsadnesspulseillediemnostal} on and on and on it went.

Svv could only see vague outlines of what was around him, no longer able to hear where he was, where anyone else was, or even if he was dead or alive really. The moon was like a blurry light under deep waters in his vision, the only point of reference in the world of shadows that Svv had been used to, and embracing of until now. Now he was truly blind.

He stayed on his floor, on his back, like a dead spider. His laugh continued, not even able to hear himself, surely Svv had woken up the entire castle by now. And finally it slowed, energy gone from him, and he sunk back down into the floor. He was alive, the tingling in his finger tips telling him so, and hesitantly, he reached his hands back up to touch his ears, as though unsure if they weren't burned off his head.

Wetness; he was bleeding, Svv sighed. He pushed himself up by his elbows, popping his neck to one side and then to the other. He turned at the waist to do the same popping sound to his spine, and gained his balance all the while.

"I suppose I deserved that," he spoke quietly, his voice now hoarse, though humor curdled the tone. Svv found his own statement ironic, as not only did he deserve that, but to have his soul eaten as well. Though strangely, Svv did not mind the ringing, he could not hear anything else for that matter, and some semblance of silence overtook the man. The Sound Fey did not hear Sylvias, though knew if only for a moment that the Death Fey had changed and was still there behind him.

"..You should have told me you had a soul, Sir Death, or perhaps you yourself did not know? Maybe you don't even remember what it was like to be alive?" Svv spoke out, bangs over his eyes as he hung his head in weakness now. Tired, very tired.

[Sylvias]

The Death Fey seemed to have shifted from his awkward statue stance. Now his figure was looming over the Sound Fey, the fog of his eyes darker than normal. He was attempting to stare the boy in the face, as though it was a mirror. Sylvias leaned in closer, imagining there was something that he could not see. Death had a basic understanding of life, that many Fey had the tendency to mess it up and live with a mouthful of regrets. And if Death had a Soul, wouldn’t it be somewhere inside the Sound Fey? The only reason he wasn’t clawing into Svv’s muscles and bones was because it was the voice that gave the answers, not the flesh.

While Svv was practically blind, he knew the other male would be able to sense him in close proximity. The vibe off of the Death Fey had a source of killing intent and it lingered, as though he was a wounded animal and wanted to get rid of the pain by inflicting it on others. Sylvias’ lips were moving, as though mouthing the boy’s words back to himself, trying figure out the code. He used all of his power to draw up any information he had received about what he was supposed to do, and none of it ever inclined that he had once been alive.

Breathing in, although the body didn’t need to, he had smelt the blood. Even know the Death Fey’s hands were pressed into the puddle beneath him, aware of the fluid texture seeping into his flesh. “Remember?” he threw the word out, wanting a definition, something to have all of his thoughts make sense. He was dead, he was death, and only things that were alive die -- so had he once been alive? The Death Fey moved in closer, their noses almost touching.

“For as ambiguous as I am, for once I do not know; for once I have no answer,” and he waited, still staring, still expecting more answers. He had skipped a social step: to get answers one must question, but he hated questions. All of a sudden he was fond of something he had hated, and wanted to test out the limits of these waters.

“Who am I?” he asked, completely unaware that wasn’t an easy thing to answer.

[Svv Mrk'ss]

Svv knew something had stirred in the great nothingness of the Death Fey, that Svv had opened a box that should have remained closed and did not mind the consequences in a world where he was destined to die in stereo. It was such in the nature of animals to lash out in their dying moment, to grasp some semblance of life, Svv was only wistfully thinking that perhaps, in stead, he could have some peace in death. Now, he knew it to be impossible. The voice that draped Sylvais's words before were shattered and incomplete, the sound nothing but screeching, and Svv was left with the scattered pieces to reassemble the music.

Svv stared back at Sylvias, trying to see just as the Death Fey was trying to see. His eyes, for once, trying to grasp shape and form, instead of sound and vibration. And Sylvias spoke out:

Remember?

He was close, very close, closer than Svv would have liked. But he did not pull back, too interested now, too curious to what the dead had to say of the living, now knowing they in turn had an opinion. What an experience to behold, Svv would have thought, if the situation was not so dire.

Svv leaned forward, now meeting Death instead of waiting. He could feel the single breath of the Death Fey, he closed his eyes and tried to listen. Words came to him in shambles, mocking of what they sounded to him before. Slowly, he reached up his hand, knowing that there was no possibility in killing the other, he placed a large hand on the other's throat, long fingers wrapping around the large muscles with delicacy as the other spoke. Vibrations in vibrations, Svv was understanding the words without hearing them at all, feeling just as the Death Fey was feeling, the strange, unknown emotion was being grasped in the palm of his hand.

It was poetry, thought Svv, privately.

"..What we are, or who we were, or what is to be is something only time can tell, and unfortunately, you seem to have eaten all of mine." Svv opened his eyes again, his eyebrows raising with almost a paternal note to them. "...Would you really want to know if there was an answer at all?"

[Sylvias]

As though twig branches brushing against his skin, the Death Fey remained unanimated. A vague stream of warmth tickled at Syl’s throat, causing his eyes to move in centimeters. Despite all these years he harvested the dying, he would never be able to truly understand someone like Svv -- a Fey who seemed to extremely brave, yet afraid of an invisible fear that may have never existed. While Death Fey were the very foundation of romanticized tragedy, he could never admire poetry.

These moments were critical to Sylvias. He watched this secret exchange, the boy’s eyes closing -- and the Death inside Syl wondered if he had accidentally killed him -- and opening. Bifocals all for the taking, and Sylvias greedily took all that he could. Sylvias was like an open trap, taking all the dark particles into himself, refusing to allow the contact between to the two to be a painful experience.

So, when the Sound Fey spoke up, there was amount a laugh wanted to escape him. It was like a bubble growing inside of him, and at the rapid speed of growth, it had tickled, and when it tickled the bubble wanted to burst. The Death Fey swallowed this feeling inward, unsure and very confused toward Svv’s words. Death always had an answer for everything, and he was aware the living was limited in their resourcefulness.

Svv lived a long life. Sylvias reached his right hand out of the pool of blood. He placed the drenched hand to the back of the Dark Fey’s neck, holding him still. “That’s a mortal question you’re asking me,” he said with such certainty, and when that question raised for him he usually said, ‘If you knew the answer.. -- ‘

That realization made that bubble finally burst. “Life is more enjoyable when you cannot predict it,” he sounded hazy, far off, as though hardly aware that he even asked a question in the first place.

[Svv Mrk'ss]

The pain, it was gone, leaving only a mock-real feeling, as though Svv were actually touching the Death Fey and not his cold, hard shell. Strangely enough, the last thing said by the Death Fey sounded tantalizingly real, not dead, not indifferent, but, what was it - human?

His hands were click on his neck, his own blood being lathered, Svv didn't even bother to wonder if he was bleeding to death, caring little but breathing the very moment into his lungs and living it.

Sylvain.

The bubble, he felt it build in the other's chest, the little things in the vibration of his throat giving him away. An emotion that built up a few hundred years, and yet never known until now. Svv, to any other, might have sounded mocking, but spoke to him in the similar tone, as though trying to impersonate someone else.

"'To die for you is not death,' you said, but she begs to differ," his words curled and curled, Svv looking past Sylvias's shoulder, as though lost in a memory - one that was not his own. He recited the words as though an actor reading lines, "Perhaps you were happy to die, perhaps she still feels differently..." He trailed off.

The humming, the ringing was still saturating all of Svv's thought, a leech upon them, impossible to understand, but just as impossible to ignore. Focusing, he turned his head into Death Fey's hand, he peered past dark eyelashes, watching Sylvias's features, as though he could see them.

"Would you like for me to look for her?"

[Sylvias]

Sylvias continued to watch Svv, much interest present. He had not known a curiosity like this before. There was nothing left of the Death Fey now. He was no longer an instrument for souls, but he was something more worldly, far too great. It was like the bubble had been acidic, and he couldn’t take the throbbing in his chest. He had no internal make up, did he? For he was dead, those things could not exist, so how would this ‘gut wrenching’ feeling come forth.

The Death Fey dropped his head a little, and again his arm started to feel weak. Despite the rubbery feeling going through his muscles, he continued to hold onto Svv. For if he let go, then this small linger of emotion would escape him, and he would be lost to rely merely on logic. Which sometimes was more based on apathy and it had rarely guided him anywhere.

Svv’s words implied that he had once been alive, but how could he believe him? For bleeding all over the place was never proof enough for Sylvias. “I never knew,” he said in a bewilder tone, trying to retain this mental picture of himself. “I never knew at all, and I had been once like you are now?” There had been a considerable amount of disappointment in his thoughts, and he had no one to blame because there was truly no one in the Underworld that would comprehend.

“Her?” he asked meekly, seeing that face flash before his eyes. Always frowning at him, always frowning but turning it into a smile. He couldn’t understand. “Do what you must to make it make sense,” it was like he was begging with the boy, and his dark eyes glanced at Svv’s distance expression. “Do this and you will not die, you have my word.” And Death’s word was a powerful thing to have.