Work, Work, Work. || aeternaemorte
Once in every decade or so Mortia meets souls whose mortals are capable of seeing what lies behind the curtain, and today seemed to be one of those cases. So much for not letting herself be revealed. The reaper paused, scythe high and gaze low on the woman, who seemed entirely too accepting of her impending doom.
The reaper lowered her weapon slowly, setting it back in a loose right-hand grip.
“How so?” she asked, her voice cold and calm both at once. “How did you know it is your time?” After all Jill was not that old, and she had no terminal illness or the likes. “And..” Mortia paused, knowing she was crossing certain lines here, “..how are you related to Thanatos?”
Jill’s body refused to cooperate with her mind; her skin paled and she trembled like an earthquake... But her stare is strong and resilient. She looked at the grim reaper, holding out her shivering hand then braved herself until she can touched Mortia’s arm. A jolt ran through her body as she gasped for air, but letting her memory flow out, letting the other experienced what she saw, what she felt...
How she loved the god of death from the first time they met.
“I had a son.” She talked with a raspy voice once the flashback was done, chuckling shakily as the old woman leaned back to her chair, letting out a tired sigh. “I had a son, thanks to him. He grew up to be a beautiful boy. He still visits me every once in a while.” Then her smile faded, just like the sheer joy in her eyes. “... But I was suppose to die when he was 3. ... I can’t do that. He won’t grow up without a father... Now he should grow up without a mother?” Her withering finger touched a framed photo of a young woman with his son; she hugged him from behind, both of them laughing. “So I begged him. Skip my name, don’t look at it twice. ... And he did.” Then Jill turned back to Mortia, her eyes hollow and her smile was bitter. “Until now. My name come up once more... And I can’t escape this. Not anymore.” Her eyelids slowly moved down, and she let out one last breath. “So do it. ... It’s time.”
“It’s time for me to die.”












