Reibella rose first, clapping her hands once with quiet finality. “Come. Talking like this on the floor is terrible for morale, and I refuse to let this become a tragedy before dinner.” She turned an began walking, not bothering to check if they followed.

  The castle adjusted.

  Stone corridors unfolded ahead of them, arches stretching wider, ceilings lifting as if the structure itself were accommodating Zemmal’s bulk and Brute’s steady gait. The walls were carved with reliefs Lavender hadn’t noticed before. Scenes of meals shared, fires tended, hands clasped across tables. Not endings, pauses.

  The air warmed subtly as they moved, carrying the scent of baked grain and herbs and something savory that made Lavender’s stomach tighten with sudden awareness. Hunger, sharp and inconvenient, cut through the haze in her head.

  Brute followed close to her leg as they walked. Zemmal followed, silent but alert, his presence filling the passage behind them like a held breath.

  They did not arrive at the dining room so much as drift into it.

  The room they entered was long with high ceilings. Sharp arches softened by draped tapestries and low-burning braziers. A table of dark stone dominated the center, already set. Plates, cutlery, cups; human-sized, thoughtfully so. Steam curled gently upward from covered dishes. She had never seen anything like it.

  Lavender slowed, stunned. “You… eat?”

  Reibella glanced back, slightly offended. “I can when the occasion calls for it. Like when it makes those who do feel more comfortable.”

  She gestured grandly. “Sit. We’ll talk properly. Conversations like this go better with bread.”

  Only after Lavender was seated, hands braced on the edge of the stone table, heart still racing, did Reibella settle opposite her. Posture loose, almost casual.

  Lavender recalled what she said about crying. The thought kept swelling in her mind.

  “You… weep.”

  The words slipped out, fragile and unguarded, before she could stop them.

  Reibella blinked, now clearly offended. “Of course I do. Do you think I’m made of stone because I live among it? Where do you think your emotions come from?”

  The answer was so immediate, so sincerely affronted, that it dislodged something in Lavender’s chest. Death, insulted at the implication she might not cry.

  Brute made a sound that might have been a laugh.

  Reibella’s gaze snapped to him, sharp as a blade half-drawn. “Don’t start. You cry, too.”

  Brute sneezed again, unapologetic.

  Lavender dragged in a shaky breath and pressed her palm harder against the table, grounding herself in the cool solidity beneath her. The castle did not reject her touch. If anything, it felt attentive. Waiting.

  “You said you marked me,” Lavender said quietly.

  Reibella’s smile returned, sly and unmistakably pleased. “Yes.”

  “At birth.”

  “Oh, much earlier than that,” Reibella replied lightly, waving a hand as though brushing aside an inconvenient footnote. “Your bloodline brushed against my door generations ago. Loud people. Dramatic. Difficult to kill at reasonable times.” Her mouth curved with fondness sharpened by memory. “I became attached.”

  Lavender’s stomach twisted. “So, the eyes?”

  Reibella nodded. “A signature. Recognition. If I choose a soul, I prefer not to lose track of it.”

  “And my magic,” Lavender pressed. “The… residue?”

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  Her gaze sharpened, interest clicking into place like a mechanism engaging. “You’re evolving.”

  Lavender grit her teeth. “I’m still a person.”

  “Yes,” Reibella said quickly. Too quickly. “Yes, you are. And you will remain one.” Her smile flashed, bright and earnest, edged with something defensive. “I don’t want a puppet. I want a partner.”

  Zemmal’s body pressed closer behind Lavender, protective and immovable. His voice slid into her mind, low and absolute.

  She must have agency.

  Lavender glanced back. Zemmal met her gaze without hesitation. Steady, fierce, a storm held behind restraint.

  She turned back to Reibella, spine straightening despite the tremor in her legs. “I have conditions.”

  Reibella’s brows lifted in surprise. “Oh?”

  Lavender’s voice steadied, hardening into something she didn’t recognize at first. Something earned. “If I carry your whisper, your purpose, then I remain me. My choices remain mine. You don’t override me. You don’t take control of my body. You don’t…” her throat tightened, “…use me.”

  The words landed between them with weight.

  Reibella stared at her.

  For a long moment, nothing moved. The low flames in the braziers flickered but did not waver. The food continued to steam patiently.

  Then Reibella laughed.

  It wasn’t cruel, or mocking. It was warm and bright. Almost human. The sound of genuine delight echoing through a hall carved into stone that had never expected laughter.

  “Oh, Lavender,” she breathed, eyes shining. “You wonderful, stubborn, impossible child.”

  Lavender clenched her jaw. “Is that a no?”

  “It Is an emphatic yes,” Reibella said, stepping forward and taking Lavender’s bandaged hands in her own. The touch should have burned. It didn’t. It was relief at once; clean, bracing, unmistakably real. “You remain yourself. Your choices remain your own. I guide but do not command. Advise but do not override.”

  Lavender swallowed. Her eyes stung. “And if I refuse?”

  Reibella’s smile softened. “Then you walk away. Brute leads you back. Zemmal continues to pretend he isn’t terrified.” Her expression flickered, something lonely slipping through the careful composure. “And I… wait.”

  The loneliness in her voice struck Lavender harder than the revelation that Death stood before her.

  Lavender stared at their joined hands. At the faint glow of the scars along her skin beneath Reibella’s touch. Like they recognized her. Like they had been waiting.

  “You’re lonely,” Lavender whispered before she could stop herself.

  The hall went still.

  Reibella blinked. Then her smile returned, quirky and a little too bright. “Of course I’m lonely. I’m Death. Everyone leaves me. That’s the job.”

  Zemmal’s voice was the softest Lavender had ever heard it. Mother…

  Reibella glanced at him, affection sharpening into something unstable and electric. “Don’t.” She waved a hand as if swatting away the pity. “I will bite you.”

  Zemmal went very still.

  Lavender blinked. “You would bite your son?”

  Reibella smiled sweetly. “Only a little.”

  Brute huffed, clearly amused.

  Lavender let out a shaky breath. She didn’t know what to do with any of this. With Death next to her at the table. With Zemmal behind her like a living wall. With Brute pressed against her side like he had always belonged there.

  She lifted her chin. “You said you’d answer my questions.”

  Reibella released Lavender’s hands with care, as if letting go mattered. “Ask.”

  Lavender struggled with the words. “…My father.”

  Reibella’s expression shifted, sadness, ancient and immediate. “I held him as he passed,” she said quietly. “I whispered comfort in his final moments. I showed him visions of you grown and strong and alive. I promised him that I would watch over you.”

  Her eyes burned. “That’s not the same as saving him.”

  “No,” Reibella agreed, voice gentle and unyielding. “It is not.”

  Silence stretched between them. Their plates remained untouched.

  Lavender forced the next question out. One even her father never answered. “My mother?”

  Reibella went still.

  Then she sighed, like an old door opening after years of disuse. “Your mother still lives,” she said softly. “Far from here. Hidden. Afraid. She fled when your magic first manifested, believing she could protect you by leaving.”

  Lavender’s world tilted once more. “She’s alive?”

  “She is,” Reibella confirmed. “And she is very good at running.”

  Her voice shook. “Where is she?”

  “You are not ready,” Reibella said simply. Then, lighter, as if trying to soften the blow, “And because she would run again, and then I would have to listen to you cry about it, and I’m trying to reduce my workload.”

  Lavender made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t been edged with grief. “So what now?”

  Reibella’s gaze sharpened, bright and intent. “Now you decide whether you will accept what I offer.”

  “And if I do? What happens?”

  Reibella smiled, gentle and terrible. “Then we are bound. You will feel my presence always. You will carry your magic, enhanced, transformed, woven with my essence.”

  Lavender’s breath caught.

  “Also,” Reibella added, “you will have purpose beyond survival.”

  Lavender stared at Death at a dining table carved from stone. At the plates waiting patiently to be used. Her hands trembled. Not with fear alone.

  With recognition.

  With the terrible possibility that she had been walking toward this her entire life without knowing it.

  “No screaming yet,” Reibella observed. “I’m impressed.”

  Lavender’s voice came out thin. “Don’t congratulate me yet. I might still scream.”

  Reibella beamed. “Wonderful. Eat first. Decisions go better on a full stomach.”

  Lavender looked at Brute, then at Zemmal, then back at Reibella.

  And somewhere deep in the castle stone, something listened. Patient, ancient, and newly attentive.

  Thank you for reading my story. I spent a long time working on it and am glad I get to share it with others. Not your speed though? Check out another cool author below to give a try!