When Love Turns Macabre

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Betraying Purpose

Mako descended from the blood orange midday sky and folded his wings. He grazed his phalanges on the peonies in the window before slipping into his cabin, stepping over the debris and sitting beside the woman on his bed. He pulled the shards from his pocket and set them in her hand, taking a breath.

The spell was in one of his books, he was sure of it. He picked through the tome while placing her in the living room and flipped pages, tossing incorrect volumes aside until he finally came upon the intricate pages filled with forbidden rituals. Mako didn’t peruse this book too often. The pages defined Revive as an extremely exhausting spell made only for the reckless and experienced. This was an exception, an extremely rare one. Before he could begin, he had to dig the bullets out of her and set her broken arm. With any luck, the reviving ritual would also heal some of her wounds, it stated that it did, but he wasn’t counting on it. Wishful thinking.

“This is a long shot.” He sighed under breath. Her shallow breaths were beginning to slow to dangerous levels, her blood becoming thick and dark. Mako folded his legs and closed her fingers around the shards. He held the dark, leather-bound tome open in his lap, skimming the page and double checking his materials.

Candles, check. Soul, check. Vessel, check. Powerful caster?” Mako paused and lightly shrugged, “Check, I guess.”

Mako had never revived anyone before, he can’t name a time a reaper ever had to do such a thing. There was no guarantee it would work. The room was shut off and isolated before he could begin, curtains were drawn, blankets thrown over them to make it darker. He set her on the floor, the candles around her and lit, his eyes the only other source of light in the somber darkness.

“Alright, here’s to second chances,” Mako muttered, raising his arms and rolling his head back. He drew the energy from his core out to his fingertips, strands of white and green dancing over his bones and ascending through the air. The candles lifted from the wood floor and floated above the two, flickering and taking the green light, casting everything in an emerald hue. Mako’s eyes bounced from wax to wick and landed on her lifeless form. The shards in her hand glowed brightly, adding aqua blues to the amounting light.

Aqua and emerald entwined and merged, wrapping around both of their arms and taking ahold of their bodies. Mako resisted against the sudden pull. He wasn’t expecting her soul to be so powerful as to pull him in. Tightening his jaw, he grunted and pushed more energy into the revival, forcing her pieces back together within her form. They didn’t piece back together, they simply absorbed back into her.

The candles blew out, his arms dropping to his sides. Mako curled in on himself and held his skull, giving quiet groans as his head stopped swimming. He blinked and unfolded his legs from under him, pressing the side of his head to her chest and baiting the phantom breath in his chest. He awaited any sign of life, though the cold of her flesh warned it may never happen.

The woman coughed suddenly and held her side, groaning. Mako pulled back, jaw hanging at the sight. She writhed and winced, every movement causing intense visible pain on her pale, near-death face.

“Th- I-I can’t believe it. It worked.” He gaped, getting off of her and sitting on his knees. She caught her breath and rested her hand on her forehead. She was still wincing but calming down. Mako allowed her some space to recollect. She looked up at the skeleton with blood covering his cloak. Her eyes focused on the dots in its eye sockets placed squarely on her.

“What’s going on? Wh- what are you?” She squeaked, stare unbroken. She covered her face with her hands, wailing, “What am I asking? Isn’t it obvious? A skeleton with flaming eyes, I’m dead. Death is taking me away…” Mako looked at his scythe resting on the wall beside him. He understood her fear, but surely she would be thankful and keep the ordeal quiet. After all, not everyone gets such a rare opportunity to live again.

“No, I have come to give you more time,” Mako stated, shaking his head and sending his scythe away. She relaxed the smallest bit without the cursed weapon in the room, slightly curious as to where it went, but her eyes remained on him. In the back of Mako’s mind, he could hear faint whispers informing him of her name. He silently thanked the spirit speaking to him before realizing a shard remained in his pocket. Taking a brief second to scratch his skull, he must have forgotten to add it to her.

“Saphira,” He uttered, her eyes giving a shine of recognition, “You were felled too early and I have come to fix it.” She flinched, looking at her hands and forcing herself onto her feet, stumbling and grabbing the dresser for balance.

“Thank you, death. So, so, so much.” She wobbled on her feet and took his hand, shaking it with absolute joy and patted her pants pockets. She paused, her joy turning to worry as she squinted at the door.

“Is something wrong?” Mako asked.

“Where is it?” She asked. Mako opened his mouth to respond, but couldn’t utter a word before she continued, “my parcel! Where is it?” She spun to confront him but fell to her knees. Mako held out a hand for her.

“Easy, you’re still weak.” He informed. Saphira glared at him, suspicious but sure death had nothing to twist on her. She hung onto his arm and sharply inhaled.

“Where is my parcel?” She asked again. Mako shook his head and brought her to a seat. He dug through a drawer in the desk behind her and brandished a needle with thread.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I found you barely holding on in the woods, no packages in sight.” He explained, handing her a pencil to put in her teeth. She refused to take it, shoving it away and hissing.

“What the hell are y-!” She cut off with a pained shriek. Mako rolled his eyes and continued stitching her up, biting the thread to cut it.

“They won’t heal if they aren’t closed.” He sighed. Saphira took the pencil and bit into it, allowing him to sew all of her reopened gashes and clean them off. Mako worked slowly keeping each stitch as clean and pristine as possible. It was a tedious and painful process, but it made Saphira thankful to be alive. The silence between them stood much more comfortably than Mako has ever experienced. He looked her over for anything else needing attention and ghosted a smile when he found nothing.

“Alright,” Saphira spat the pencil out and folded her arms, “Did you see who killed me?” Mako furrowed his brow and put his things away, washing off his hands. Saphira cocked a brow at that and tilted her head.

“I prefer not having blood on me. Anyway, you don’t remember?”

“No, I never saw. It was just panic and gunshots until it got hard to breath and… well,” She said as she tapped her foot, “you can see how that ended.”

“Luckily, I did see who did it. But I don’t know who hired them.” The reaper leaned on the counter and shrugged. She struggled to her feet and limped to the bedroom. He watched her leave with a look of confusion, “What are you doing in there?”

“These barely count as clothes anymore.” There was an annoyance and a hint of laughter in her tone calling out to him. Mako smirked and nodded slightly to himself. He tried not to focus on it, but he had to agree. She dug through his closet and came out in a pale blue hoodie and dark jeans. The jeans were a bit too big, but the hoodie seemed to fit well on her. Baggie in a cute way.

“Death.”

“Mako.”

“Whatever. I need your help.”

“What?” Mako curled his wings inward, folding his arms. He was already prepared to deny any request thrown at him. He wasn’t some genie she could boss around. Saphira wandered to the window watching the peonies sway out in the sun and searching for the right way to request his aid.

“You brought me back, you patched me up, and you know who killed me. Please. I need your help to get my parcel back.” She pleaded, bowing respectfully to him. Mako mulled it over and studied her. Something inside stopped him from outright shutting her down and kicking her out.. She seemed frantic about it, but she didn’t ride until she heard an answer one way or the other.

“I suppose… but there’s something I need from you.” He decided.

“Anything!”

“I want your help to avenge Nocci.”

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