There is no flash of light.
No bang or slow fade.
Kitt feels cheated. That is what he has always been promised, after all. Some great entrance into the world beyond the one he has drifted from.
But this is none of that.
This is nothing at all.
The first time he opens his eyes after Death has closed them, Kitt tries desperately to make something of the void before him. He squints at it, walks within it, tries to grip it between his fingers. But nothing is nothing, and the lack of something is frustrating. It is like the void that occurs behind one blinked eye—no color, no shape, no anything.
Nothing. And that was not the death he had anticipated.
The former king wanders in the empty afterlife, not quite conscious but never entirely aware. He often wonders—there is little else to do here—if he is meant to wait for someone. Perhaps his brother. Perhaps Paedyn, if she ever wishes to see him again.
So when Death arrives, Kitt only feels comfort. Not fear or confusion like a saner mind might.
No, Kitt recognizes the face of Death. Knows her by name.
“Mara.” The dead king reaches for the woman who dragged him into this abyss of nothingness. Because he only feels relief at her presence.
Death stands before him, her form so unlike the ominous tales humans so like to spin. For starters, she is just that—a she. Despite an eternity of stealing souls, not one of them anticipates Death to be a woman. There was once a time when this vexed Mara, but she has since grown accustomed to a dying face drenched in disbelief.
Is it so shocking to feel anything but warmth from a woman’s touch? Can a pretty face not drag you into the afterlife, all the same?
“Hello, Kitt,” Death says curtly. “I warned you of this fate.”
“I know,” he answers earnestly. “But this isn’t the Mors. Where am I?”
Mara sweeps a strand of chestnut hair from her dark eyes. No, she doesn’t look like Death. “This is your peace.” Her voice is chilled. This shouldn’t surprise Kitt. “It seems you accepted your fate long before dying.”
The king frowns. “I guess I did.” Then he attempts a weak, “But I’m happy you’re here. I… I didn’t think you would want to see me.”
“I can’t stay long.” Mara takes a breath before feigning politeness. “How are you enjoying peace?”
Kitt sweeps his green gaze over the expanse of darkness. “I’m still lonely.”
“You didn’t have to be,” Mara spits. “This is your own doing.”
Before drifting back into the darkness, Death leaves the king with a veiled goodbye. The broken words are nearly swallowed up in the nothingness. “But I’ll let you go gently.”
Alone once again, Kitt thinks on a life left behind.
He does not blame Kai for the unfortunate end he met (after all, it was he who was meant to dodge the Enforcer’s strike) or Death for her help in it. Neither does he let anger fester toward the girl who stole his brother from him. Resentment tends to be cumbersome in the afterlife. Since relieving himself of it, little by little, death has felt far more freeing. In fact, without the Plague muddling his mind and stealing his sanity, he now finds his last few weeks among the living seem wasted. He wishes, futilely, to try it all again. Perhaps he wouldn’t let power consume him this time around. Perhaps he would have lived like Death suggested. But this is wishful thinking, and regret is what keeps the dead rolling over in their graves.
He does ponder—frequently, remember—how this is meant to be peace. Is he a monster worth such gaping loneliness? Kitt often shouts into the void, pleads his case to this shunning afterlife. But it gives no answer. Death does not return. And this gives him none of the peace he was promised.
Kitt never sits in the same spot of eternity. In fact, he never knows where he is or where he is going. Still, he stares up—assumably—into the nothingness. There is no ground beneath his feet, but he reclines all the same. And just as he has for however long he’s been dead, Kitt wishes for company.
A soft light above startles the dead beneath.
Kitt squints up at it, finding two shimmering dots among the sheet of nothingness. They wink down at him like stars plucked from the sky above Ilya.
“Hello, Kitt,” a light says softly. It’s a female voice, as warm and bright as the glow she emits.
At the startling sound of his name, Kitt stands to blink up at the oddities. “Who are you?”
It seems a silly question to ask, as he has little use for the information. But that gentle voice graces him with something that is not quite an answer. “We thought you might like some company.”
Kitt nods. “I would. Thank you.”
Death has been kind to him.
There is a long pause.
“Do you think I’m a monster?” He isn’t sure why he feels the need to ask a pair of stars.
The female’s voice is sad. “No. You are your father’s sins.”
“You’re not alone in that.” This reassurance comes from the second star, in a deep voice.
“But I am alone here,” Kitt says solemnly. “You two have one another.”
The softer star informs, “Life ripped us apart.”
“Death brought us together,” the rougher one finishes.
There is something so vaguely familiar about the pair of glowing orbs. Kitt doesn’t ponder this absurdity further. Instead, he sits once again, folding his legs beneath him. “Would you…” He feels oddly shy. “Would you stay with me awhile?”
Kitt could have sworn it looked as though the stars were smiling at him. That warm, bubbly voice fills the void between them in response. “Until you see your brother again, if you like.”
The deep voice rumbles above him. “We are all waiting for someone.”
