Chapter Text
A lifeless gray fog replaced the vibrant glow he was used to seeing each day. The enchanting lights emanating from large, exotic, lupine eyes that drew him in were extinguished. She gave herself up so that he might live. He still couldn't wrap his head around her logic. Was it an altruistic suicide or did she still see herself as an object? The final words recited in her native language were so obscure that he couldn't find any commonality between his own dead language and her commonly used phrases. It was nothing like he heard in her daily prayers. Perhaps it was as she and the albino Prophetess had said: It was her destiny to die.
A knot of disgust formed in the pit of his stomach as he watched the secrets of her past unveil before him on unnecessarily silver film reels. He didn't need glasses, let alone eyes, to see that his Perfect Beauty was being unnecessarily objectified throughout her short life. He knew the other man was in the room with him, clearly satisfied that she was dead, however, no move was made to prevent her from being reaped. He sensed the building unease from the younger male as he continued to study her records, and if he wasn't so distraught, he'd laugh at the stoic brute.
He stared blankly at her lifeless form, a small smile on his face with random thoughts racing in his head as he pretended her smiling face still held life within it. Records be damned! He let his mind drift, just this once.
xxxxxx
*It is plainly obvious what I am. Lately, I'd rather think of myself as a humble mortician who happens to love his job a bit too much. One thing that has remained a constant in my long existence is loneliness. I live and breathe amusement to escape it. Then, my Lovely came along and I no longer felt the overwhelming empty feeling that is loneliness.
Her delicate touches, her peculiar, glowing eyes, her obsession and power, and her hunger, insatiable to the point of gluttony, are but tiny fraction of the things I love about her. In fact, I couldn't begin to list all the little things I adore about her. The End would come and go a thousand fold, and I still wouldn't be finished. Gods! I love the way her body responds to my touch! With me, she knows she's not an object. With me, she knows she's beautiful. With me, she knows she's wanted. With me, she found love in Death.
With her, I found the One that Fate had in store for me, and I won't let her go. Anything my Lovely needs, I will provide. Anything my Lovely wants, I will give. Anything my Lovely wishes, I will do.
I am Death and only I can tell her when she can die.*
xxxxxx
The man in the torn business suit didn't dare move. He could tell by the silver haired man's posture that if he did, he wouldn't live to tell about it. How the older man could see what was playing on that thing's Cinematic Records was beyond him. Then again, this was Legendary Death, so anything was possible. After all, the man could make a mangled corpse look as though it had never met with any harm. The stoic reaper both greatly admired and feared the legend. If he could easily wipe out so many others in his search for the thing he calls a mate, and then fight an ancient adversary without the aid of spectacles, it only stood as a testament to his power. The younger reaper internally shivered thinking about other ways Legendary Death's power could be wielded.
The battered man wouldn't openly admit it, but his idol was right. He did have more of a problem with that abomination than he did with Rarities in general. His reasons for hating the dead eyed abomination ran deeper than his former mentor falling for that thing's flattery or simply blaming it for his desertion (although those are factors). No, it was the pain of decades old unrequited love. The cold eyed manager knew from day one the silver reaper would never love him, but like the redhead did at one time, he still couldn't help but hold out hope that one day it would be returned. Now, decades later, he knows better than to hold out foolish hopes, but he still can't help but love the legend just the same. And so, there he stood watching him watching that.
"So it seems you have more than just a problem with my Lovely, Mr. Spears," a legendary, dark voice full of wrath from the silver haired man stated calmly and evenly as he observed the petite's Cinematic Records. The silver reaper may have been reviewing her records at a snail's pace, but that didn't mean he was going to let his guard down in case he had to fight for his life and the Rarity's records (and corpse).
*No one takes what's mine.*
"Nothing to say, hm, Willikins?" the mortician mocked without looking up.
The other man remained stock still and silent, stewing in a broth of his own mixed emotions. He still loved the legend, but the more he saw him loving that, it gradually turned to hate. But, because he loved him, he was torn between acting aggressively at his taunting insults, or just standing there and taking it in stride. As he was caught in the flux of his feelings and protocol, his response would be as well. "I already gave you my answer, sir." The injured man turned to begin his hasty exit from the library, but was quickly stopped without the mortician having to leave the lavender Rarity's side.
"I wouldn't leave if I were you, Spears. Hehehe," the madman warned in a singsong voice. "Hehehe. I know something quite damning about yoooooouuuu." The mad reaper cackled, peeking over his shoulder at the bloodied manager with a sadistic grin that sent shockwaves of fear through his former student. "Hmmm, since a corpse has got your tongue, maaayyyybe my Lovely's records will give me the answers I need. So damned you are, Spears, so damned you are. Ehehehe!" His eyes flashed electric green malice at the stoic reaper as he spoke the cryptic warning.
That grin. That maddening, fearsome grin spreading across the lips of the scarred visage of the legend himself was enough to scare anyone into submission. That grin on the scarred face of the legendary reaper completely insane from the loss of the One he loved, the One he was devoted to, his mate, was enough to turn the onlooker into proverbial stone like the victim of a metaphorical Medusa. The younger man knew very well how possessive the elder was, but had no idea his possessive nature would carry over this far. The battered reaper heard that the ancients go mad as they age, but he was different; he was created, not a recycled suicide. The short haired manager wondered if the beautiful legend had always been insane but was too blinded by his love for him to realize it. Perhaps the silver reaper's constant loneliness drove him mad, or perhaps his hopeless romanticism and undying devotion to that carcass he calls a mate was the culprit.
That look. That face. The manager submitted to Legendary Death partially out of fear for his life and livelihood, but most of all for vengeance.