Chapter Text
Death was an interesting job. By no accounts could it really be classified as a “ job ”, but there’s not much else it could be called. As much as she wants to, to go from person to person and bring them to their afterlife is far beyond the capability of one entity, immortal or not. Because of this, Death has others who do most of the collecting for her. Countless mythical crows adore her, flying around flashing colours off their jet black wings, travelling the world to guide souls to their final destination. They were kind, humorous, energetic beings, but unfortunately not too skilled in the art of rhetoric.
Occasionally a soul, frequently young and unfulfilled, will not wish to leave. It’s a common assumption about ghosts, the whole “ unfinished business” theory, but not quite the full truth. There doesn’t have to be a specific thing they wished to do, sometimes it’s just a feeling. Wait, that’s it? I’m not done! I don’t want to leave, I’m scared, etc. The crows can pick and squawk and pull all they want, but a soul can not move on unless they are ready; this is where Death comes in. She visits these hesitant mortals and walks with them to where they are meant to go. Talking with them, she tries to calm their fears. She will take them by the hand, and spend any time they need calming their fears.
Sometimes that is all they need and they’re willing to follow her to their afterlife. Occasionally though, they still are not ready. Healing takes time, and one visit is not always enough. Sometimes she needs to let them be, leave them haunting and reminiscing on their own life before they’re ready to move on, but she does not forget them.
Along with crows, she has more tactful helpers. Angels , she calls them. Much more human, but with wings like crows and light as feathers, able to disguise themselves to the living and the dead alike. They do not follow her around as much personally, but they watch over those either near their passing, or not ready to move on. They do their job, the crows do theirs, and Death does all she can to help who she must.
One angel crept a special place into her heart. No one quite knows how they met. Some say he was always an angel, simply growing closer and closer to each other over millennia. Some say he was a crow that just would not leave her side, so she turned him to an angel to be herself. But some say he was human once, simply refusing to move on so he could continue to see her. No matter how it came to be, he was her closest, most beloved helper. More of a friend than a servant, eventually becoming something more. A partner of sorts. A lover.
All the other angels and crows fell in-line behind him until he was no longer one of their own. Not in an isolating way, but the way a leader is separated from their kin. They looked up to him, and eventually adorned him with the name “Crow Father” in teasing admiration. He wore the title with rolled eyes but reluctantly fond smiles.
And so the world turned. People were born under the guidance of Life, and people died flowing home into Death’s open arms. Her domain was that like the mortals she guided: suited to her own soul. When someone dies, they are guided to their afterlife. Everyone’s is different, and it molds to their soul as it grows and changes. A florist’s may be a field of flowers, growing and changing with the seasons. A mother’s may be the home she made, pictures of the generations after her appearing with time. Or an academic’s might be a library of mysteries never found in their lifetime, growing as science expands ad infinitum. All their eternities are spent in the lives they made for themselves and the end they thought they deserved.
That was another reason Death and her angels walked the more hesitant mortals to their afterlife. If someone has lived a life creating a better afterlife than they think they deserve, their doubts will cause it to warp and distort. The crows have dubbed this state limbo . With a change of heart and coming to acknowledge what the soul truly deserves, they will spend their forever in their true end, but that takes a willingness and effort to change not everyone has on their own. The angels try to reason with the souls as well as Death herself, and every soul stuck in limbo breaks her heart a little more, but this is how the universe was created. Humanity's existence is to grow and change the world around them for the better, Death is only there to give them the motive to start and the peace to pass this purpose on.
Her favourite angel visited her often. Stepping foot into the brilliant white cathedral had lost all sense of tension or suspense, instead replaced by a warm familiarity for the woman he’s coming home to. At this point it was his home as much as hers. The crows squawked from the heavens, swarming him happily over his arrival. Death rested in her throne on the altar, smiling and laughing over her love getting tackled by dozens of birds. He shooed them off and continued down the aisle.
He no longer bowed at the foot of the altar. Once upon a time he would enter her domain only to report oddities in the universe or messages from various forms of life. He would step carefully and bow to the ground before her, actions appropriate for the goddess he served. Now, no such formalities were necessary. Death reached down her hand and he stepped comfortably into her palm. She lifted him high to the arm of her throne and he sat on the edge, legs dangling to the drop below.
Death, still being several feet above him, slid off her seat and sat on the altar floor. They did this often, her sitting lower so they could be at least somewhat eye level. The crows fly around and pick at her jewelry, squawk in the angel’s face, and generally be a rowdy bunch, but they’re hardly a nuisance. They would sit there for hours, talking about any adventures of the day or interesting things going on in the mortal realm. Sometimes they’d simply take walks around her domain. It was their home now, together. The creeping in of loneliness is blown away instantly whenever they’re together, and this was theirs and theirs alone.
Unfortunately neither of them could spend the rest of eternity simply strolling around the slice of reality given to them. They still had jobs to do and people to guide to rest. The world continued but the reminder of the other kept them looking forward to returning home.
One day, waking up together under the ethereal willow tree, Death fell ill. Nothing too worrying as it was unclear how a goddess could become ill in the first place, but a few hardset mortal losses seemed to simply be too much of a mental drain. Playing this game of convincing for centuries, trying to show stubborn people their worth and having to watch them throw themselves into suffering because they won’t listen would hurt anyone, even Death herself.
She needed rest, maybe a vacation. She needed a pause in her regular schedule to get out and breathe. Her angel proposed an offer: she take some time to lose herself, have some fun with all the universe had to offer, and he assume her position for a while. A temporary replacement: she takes her job back when she’s able, but for the time being he could take the most difficult cases.
The plan did not take much convincing. Death was ready and willing for a release, and with a promise to come back soon, she kissed him and vanished to the mortal realm.
The angel stood and stretched his wings. He spun the black ring on his finger and looked to the distance. She truly needed this, but he was unsure how well he’d be able to continue her work. The one thing he did know was that he was going to try.
A temporary replacement, but an interesting one to be sure.