Death Knows

“You said you hear the cries of death, right?”

The shadowed figure is standing still, silhouetted outline against the brightness of the moon-lit window. Suit covered arms folded behind his back. He is un-breathing until he speaks. For which he inhales deeply ( through his muzzled face ), pursing pallid lips. “I do.”

The fledgling by the door let his jaw clench from the reply, eyebrows knitting together in a frown while he chokes back bitter words and bitter memories. Waking the little ancient nestled between the two opposing beings was the last thing either wanted. Tan fists lightly shook with the effort to keep himself staring, holding the eye contact that kept him frozen in his instincts.

“And you’ll take those deserving?”

The stillness relents to nod.

Where the shadow stood calm and unmoving, unnerved before the window, the vampire is digging bloody crescents into his palms while fighting his own lungs for air. Watching the creation calling himself Death looking so emotionless like he’d always thought. Always known.

The muscles in his neck pinch and flex in the struggle for words before he finally breathes, something he doesn’t require but still begs mercy for.

“Then why didn’t you hear me?”

Silence reclaims its place in the cold bedroom, crawling over plush toys and frilled curtains, over the painstaking oil painted portrait nestled on the wall. It wraps around the shadow like a second skin, over the vampire like a plastic bag.

A glint in the eyes of the man reflects in the dark. The only semblance of life in death present apart from the face it wears. A face. A mask.

But the silence withholds their words and leaves the young one bristling.

“For years. Years I begged. I pleaded. I prayed. If you heard me, why didn’t you answer? How many times?”

Blank eyes cast their gaze aside to look at the slumbering girl rather than face the pained questions from the boy.

“I can’t give it back.”

He sniffs as if he was crying, but his face is dry.

“I don’t want it back.”