Deep in Death’s library, soft footsteps broke the silence.
Eravisté’s boots, made of the most supple and deftly sewn leather in the land, nevertheless harshly interrupted the stillness of the room. It was a library unlike any other, one where the books were never opened, let alone read. Upon each book sat a candle; so numerous were the candles that the whole of the room, despite its unfathomable size, was lit by them.
He was smiling, as usual. Eravisté rarely stopped smiling unless his face was tired from it. The walk through the library was a long one, but he didn’t mind. The scenery provided by the books and candles was enough to keep him entertained – after all, they were constantly shifting. Most would simply be a little shorter when he would walk through, but many others would go out, just as new ones were placed atop new books by an unseen force. Not even Death knew who put them there, or if he did, he wasn’t telling.
As these thoughts flickered across Eravisté’s mind, The Questions made his smile flicker away. Not now, he thought sternly, you know you’re not welcome here. And, after a gentle battle for mental control, he was back on his way, grinning triumphantly. The Questions would never get the best of him; of this he was sure.
“Tell me how you feel today,” said Death.
“I am content,” Eravisté replied, his tone friendly as he reached for a bread roll. “I have not a care in the world.”
“As always.” Death settled into his mahogany chair, clacking a bony finger against his skinless chin. “You are always content.”
“Indeed.” He continued to smile as the skeleton across the table from him passed him the gravy.
“You never feel anything but happiness.” Death sprinkled salt onto his pheasant. “As it should be.”
“That’s right,” he said automatically. “I couldn’t be happier.”
“Very good.”
They supped together in silence after their brief conversation. Eravisté, with his thin frame and scant muscle mass, had eaten a light meal, as he always had. Death, on the other hand, had heaped food upon his own plate, meat and bread and fruit spilling over the edges. After his dinner companion went to bed, his plate was still untouched.
Despite watching an expert at it every night for the last few years, Death still had no idea how to eat.
The Reaper could not allow himself to question things. Questions only brought problems; problems were unnecessary. He considered himself extremely lucky compared to mortals; they were born into the world without purpose. Without a definite path.
How horrible, he thought. They have to find a purpose themselves.
He did not know how he came to be. Death simply was, and he had known from the beginning what his purpose was: to end life. His duty was not done out of malice or spite, but merely because it was he who had to do so. And out of his duty came the Akashic records, the library of lives in which the life stories of every living thing in the world was stored. Each person had a candle that burned away as the days of their life did – when the candle went out, so did they.
Death thought of his formerly-mortal ward and his candle. The flame had gone out, but the wick still burned with an orange tip.
Sometimes it was very hard for Eravisté to resist The Questions.
He didn’t really know why he fought them so very viciously, but then again, that would be another question. He merely knew, on instinct, that he was not to ever, under any circumstances, question anything.
He lived a half-life in the records without drive or purpose, taking each endless, timeless moment as it came. It was really not so hard to do; it simply required him to not think. Once in a while, Death would ask him to do something like push in a chair or join him for a chat. It was then that he felt like someone, a person with a reason to exist. He would momentarily become overwhelmed with true, blissful happiness, not the bored content he typically felt.
And then the moment would pass, and he would find himself behind a pushed-in chair or sitting on a step next to the only other being he knew without a thing to say. And eternity would go on.
“You’re off for your walk,” stated the Grim Reaper. It was not a question.
Eravisté nodded. “I am.”
Death waved him on, and Eravisté’s long ivory robes fluttered about him as he set off. As usual, he had no destination in mind, but then again, the living quarters were the only rooms in the whole of the realm that were not filled with books and candles. There was nowhere that was not like everywhere else; his walks were aimless. But they were an excellent way to pass time, and he had all the time in the world.
For hour after hour, Eravisté paced along the dim halls, each identical but for the placement and size of each candle. Most were shelved neatly; others were stacked haphazardly on the desks beneath the shelves. Some burned evenly, wax trickling down in an orderly fashion; some had an uneven wick, making only one side burn. It was finding the differences in the only scenery he knew that made Eravisté’s walks worthwhile.
*Eravisté’s boots, made of the most supple and deftly sewn leather in the land, nevertheless harshly interrupted the stillness of the room.
ReplyDeleteSince these seem to be the only leather boots IN the Library of Death, I suppose these boots are the softest by default. However, I think they're a little over-described here; condensing it to something like, "Era's boots, despite the softness of their leather soles, harshly interrupted..." would probably help it flow better. As it is, we go from a short minimalistic sentence about braking the silence to one that almost seems to brag about the shoes.
Also, beware repetition. That's more of a general thing to keep in mind, though.
Last thing: "And eternity would go on," makes a better ending for the first "chapter" than the following paragraphs. Though I don't know what happens in Part 2 right now, everything following "You're off for your walk," sounds like it should be the start of Ch. 2.