* this is an old origjnal work that I never finished but I thought I should at least give it life on here
* ignore how it’s heavily inspired by interview with a vampire 💔
Death spent his days folding paper in various directions until it resembled the sophistication and charisma of the crane. There were several of them, scattered over the fireplace mantle. They seemed to have found their nest above the warmth of the flames. It was surprising. She didn’t think anyone as important as Death would deal with something so insignificant as paper cranes, but it was a stark difference compared to the rest of the house. Besides the living room and kitchen, the rest of the house was as dull and drab as you’d expect from Death, with not a sound to be heard except for the ticking clock next to the cranes. Guest rooms were filled with boxes upon boxes, dining rooms appeared to be frozen in time, and there were no photos on the walls; not a single medal displayed. It was an odd world with sparse furtinue and an owner who is in charge of all who are gifted, no matter if they are a Vitae Auctor or Quaestor Mortis. An owner, who instead of turning off the kitchen lights with his hand, used his elbow and waltzed into the room. Instead of a scythe in hand, Death walked in with a pitcher of lemonade and two cups pinched together by his fingers that are bound to slip any second.
Gently, he set the pitcher down on the table in front of her, the cups following closely behind. “Thirsty?”
After many interviews that were usually completed with a pitcher of water, she asked. “Is this your drink of choice?”
“No,” he said, taking a seat in the armchair across from her. As if to demonstrate, he took the remaining glass and poured some of the translucent yellow drink into it. He took a sip, paused, and then his face scrunched up as if he was biting into the lemon itself. He set the drink down. “But I had a friend who liked it.”
She didn’t need to ask where the friend was, so she reached into her bag to pull out a voice recorder. She pulled out a pencil just to keep her focus. He changed his focus to the portrait on the wall and sat up straighter. The portrait on the wall was a familiar face, with welcoming eyes and hair that curled towards the front. His face was perhaps the most recognizable Vitae Auctor, with his face plastered across textbooks and museums and on brick walls reimagined through the colorful swirls of spray paint. When she was younger, she had a strong enough belief that she would be one of them. In her dreams, she could mend together a broken bone with only the swaying motions of her arms, or heal bruised knuckles with only the wave of her hand. But like the truth about the jolly man who brings joy to the world every winter, her parents had to explain to her that it was impossible for her to be a part of the group of legendary medics, as no ancestors of theirs had Auctor heritage on either side. Though when she realized that those with these otherworldly abilities were forced into careers such as an Auctor doctor, surgeon, or combat medic, she soon got over it. The Auctor on the wall had been dubbed Flagrans Mors, Latin for ‘Blazing Death’. Perhaps the first Auctor in history to ever be associated with death.
She took one last sip of the sugary drink in front of her, cast one last look back at the painted man in uniform, then said, “So, Elias Melldona. Describe him to me.”
Death, whom she had come to know as Mr. Caddel, hummed.
“Elias was perhaps the most stubborn man I’d ever met. These days, I’m beginning to think that he was like that from birth.” Mr. Caddel said, looking back into centuries that her mind couldn’t even begin to comprehend. “But without him, I’m not sure that what occurred would-”
She clarified. “The revolution?”
He smiled. “The revolution. I’m not sure it would have ever happened if it weren’t for his journey of self-discovery.”
“Elias believed that he knew all of the world’s functions at only twenty. He paid no mind to the things that took place outside of the Auctors.” She paused him to confirm that these Auctors he was referencing were the Vitae Auctors. She already knew this, of course, but readers craved clarity. “He thought the world was doomed to repeat its violence over and over again until we destroyed ourselves for good.”
“That's quite a morbid view of the world.” She noted.
“It is.” He nodded. “But Elias was a healer who spent his days receiving the bloody and the bruised. He had to watch the Selection and then aid in it’s legacy.”
“And this was the year you were chosen?”
She tilted her head. “And you became friends with the Auctor boy who would be not only assisting in your untimely death but studying your execution.”
“It’s a strong word, friends, to describe our relationship at that time. I don’t think he could see beyond his own two feet. But he had this naive faith in the world that he thought he had crushed long ago. He was a preacher of an ideology that his mind could understand, but his soul couldn’t quite follow.”
She hummed. “And how did he react to your failed assassination of the king?”
“He was probably stunned. I’m not sure. I was too blinded by the tornado of emotions to notice anyone else.”
“I see,” If Mr. Caddel noticed the change in temperature in the room, he didn’t say anything. “And just for the record, what exactly was the Selection?”
Mr. Caddel sat up straighter and said-
“The Selection is how we prolong our way of life,” Elias said, moving to the right side of the room. “Without it, our country, our nation, and even our very existence as Vitae Auctors would no longer be a thing of reality. The crown keeps us safe, gives us a home, and gives us a righteous cause to serve. At the sacrifice of one, we can allow the monarchy to live until the end of time.”
A hand shot up in the back of the room. A girl with a nervous frown on her face, an Auctor old enough to work in the infirmary but not old enough to work on the front lines- like all the others in the room- tried to keep her composure as her hand shook. Elias called on her with a nod.
“What if we don’t want to watch the Selection?” She asked.
Elias paused as chatter began to spread across the room, “It is an honor and a-”
With sudden vigor, she stood. “I don’t want to see my friends die!”
As she burst into tears, the room went silent. Elias made eye contact with the Senior Vitae Auctor on the other side of the room. The elder moved with grace and precision, climbing the stairs with such ease and silence that it was as if he was floating. The chatter from the younger Auctors came to a halt as he passed them. He went all the way to the fourth row where the girl was sitting and motioned for her to follow him, and returned down the steps. Slowly, the girl followed. As she made her way to the door that the elder held open, she cast Elias one last glance, sniffling and trying to dry her tears away. He held eye contact. He waited till her sniffling stopped, and then, as if giving a command in the throes of battle, he nodded his head. She turned her eyes to the floor and walked straight out the door. The elder shut the door behind them.
Like wildfire, chatting spread across the room, louder than before. Elias watched as frightened faces turned to each other in quick succession. Heads turned left and right, up and down and all refused to look at him.
“Hey!” He shouted. “This is not what we came here to do! So, are we going to listen to the rest of the lecture or do we all just want to go outside and deal with the King’s councilmen?”
That seemed to put some fear into their hearts. The Vitae Auctors turned their gazes back to him, but most still hunched over their desks in an attempt to make themselves disappear. He sighed.
“The Selection cannot and will not hurt us. We will watch it, acknowledge its existence and value to our country, and then we will all return to our comfy beds until nightfall. And then at the feast you can eat as many as chocolates as you want.” He spoke softly. “This will be the last Selection we ever see in our lifetimes. We will be long gone by the time the next one occurs.”
Silence still controlled the room, but many raised their head at the idea that this year’s Selection would be the first and last that they would ever see.
The door opened with its usual melody, a sharp tune carried out by creaky hinges, and Elias didn’t need to see the man’s face to know who he was. The steady heartbeat thundering within his ribcage was enough. Elias grinned.
“Mr. Nodri,” He nodded as the elder Vitae Auctor did the same.
As one of the elder Vitae Auctors, he commanded himself in such a manner that you’d think he was the king himself. Not a single hair out of place, and not a single wrinkle or crease to be found on his uniform. It was the soldier’s pose, chin up, arms down by his side, that gave him away as someone of much lower rank.
He motioned to the teenagers with a wave of his arms, and they all cascaded down from the stairs. Mr. Nodri had them out of the classroom in seconds, and they moved ahead of him to reach the next classroom, a schedule that they have memorized by now.
Elias caught up with him, slowing to a more relaxed speed as they walked side by side, replicating his posture.
“Elias!” His voice boomed. “Good to see you, been meaning to thank you for taking over for their usual teacher. She’ll give birth this Tuesday.”
Elias laughed and waved an arm. “Don’t worry about it,” He paused. “Mr. Nodri, as I mentioned last time we talked, I did some more research in the libraries into the Vitae Auctors and how we came into existence. There was a book that suggested-”
“Elias, Elias.” Mr. Nodri laughed. “The Selection’s tomorrow morning, and this is what you’re focusing on?”
“I believe it’s important to know where we came from.” Elias objected. “What if our ancestors had some ability that in the throes of evolution was lost?”
“You can tell me everything there is to know about the Vitae Auctors, but I don’t think you can name a single battle of importance that shaped the foundation of this country.”
Elias raised an eyebrow. “With all do respect to the crown, I don’t know how much of those stories actually matter; they all end the same, and we always get half of our men back alive.”
