I had a lot of time to think. All night, I held her. Whispered to her. Watched her chest rise and fall like it was the only proof the world was still worth keeping. My fingers traced every scar, every rune, every cruel little reminder the gods left behind. I made promises only the stars could hear, because if I said them too loud, they might break. But when the sky above my realm began to shift. The slow bloom of color that passes for dawn here, I knew one thing for certain: I didn't mean to fall this hard. But gods, how could I not?
She trusted me like I was worthy. Slept beside me like I wouldn't break her. Smiled at me like I was just a man. It undid me. Completely. I knew there was only one person who might have answers about what was happening to her. Calavera.
The oldest. The quietest. The watcher. The goddess of death. I grimaced into the silence. "If depression had a zip code," I muttered, "it would be her entire realm."
But she would know. She always did. I sat up carefully, brushing Annie's hair off her cheek. She didn't stir. Perfect. I wanted her to sleep. Then I whispered into the walls. "Arbor. Send a message to Calavera. Tell her I'll visit this afternoon. Annie comes with me." The answer came fast. Too fast. A silver pulse blinked once through the wall. Yes.
I sighed. Of course. She was always waiting. Always watching. Like death itself, patient, inevitable, inconvenient. Already I could feel the velvet suffocating me. Her realm was one long, elegant funeral, beautiful, yes, but gods below, so goth. Still. This wasn't about me. This was about Annie. My Annie. I got up quietly, padded into the kitchen, and conjured what she'd want. Not dark. Not bitter. Sweet. Hopeful. I made her an iced coffee with vanilla cold foam, cinnamon swirled on top in the shape of a heart. Even sprinkled edible stardust across the foam so it shimmered like galaxies. Don't let anyone tell you the God of Chaos can't do romance.
When I brought it back, she was still cocooned in the blanket like royalty. One bare shoulder exposed, a tiny frown on her face even in sleep. I smiled. Then leaned down. Kissed her temple. Her cheek. Her shoulder. Her ribs. Her wrist. Slow. Intentional. Not hungry. Just full. Kisses that said: I choose you again today.
She stirred, a soft sound slipping from her lips, a sleepy smile curving her mouth. "Mmm… that is a good way to wake up."
I grinned against her skin. "There's iced coffee on your nightstand. Sweet. Cold. With foam. Fancy swirl included."
Her eyes cracked open. "You know me so well."
"I try."
She yawned, stretching like a cat tangled in silk. "Are we staying in bed again today?"
I paused, brushed her hair behind her ear. "Not today. I reached out to someone."
Her brow arched. "Who?"
"Calavera."
That woke her. She sat up, blinking. "The goddess of death?"
I nodded. "I think she might know what's inside you. What it means."
She studied me for a long moment. Then, to my surprise, she didn't fight it. Didn't argue. Just sipped her coffee, thoughtful, and said, "Good. Let's get some answers."
Relief hit me like a punch. Because if anyone could walk into Death's domain without flinching, it was Annie. Still groaning, I dragged open the massive armoire Arbor had so kindly provided. Shadows curled like smoke around the hinges. Inside: mourning clothes. Dozens. All black. Every shade imaginable, midnight, ash, obsidian, void. Velvet, lace, leather, silk. Outfits that screamed I'm grieving, but make it fabulous. I scowled. "This woman makes a funeral look like a fashion show."
Annie padded up behind me, robe loose, sipping iced coffee. "So she's still obsessed with the aesthetic?"
"She made Luxor wear eyeliner last time."
Annie smirked. "Doesn't he always wear eyeliner?"
"Yes. But she insisted."
"I'm sorry I missed that guy liner."
"No you are not."
She peeked in and actually raised a brow. "Okay, but some of this is hot."
"I hate that I agree."
I pulled out a coat with a collar so high it could double as a neck brace. Tossed it aside. Then a velvet jumpsuit embroidered with doves crying blood. "Absolutely not. I'm grieving, not auditioning for a gothic boy band."
Annie held up a floor-length robe with sleeves wide enough to smother someone. "What about this one?"
"Only if you want to be mistaken for a very sad bat." Eventually, I settled on a sharp black suit with silver embroidery along the collar, a chain at my throat, and a raven-feather coat. The look said Yes, I've buried my heart. But I'm still better than you.
Annie chose a long black dress that clung in all the right places, sheer sleeves, pearls like drops of midnight across her collarbone. Smoke and shadow and soft fury made flesh. I forgot how to breathe. "…Annie."
She tilted her head. "Yes?"
"I just went through all five stages of grief looking at you."
She smirked. "Perfect. You're dressed for it."
I offered her my arm. "Shall we go impress Death?"
She slid her hand into mine, grin sharp as a blade. "Let's go make a corpse jealous."
And together, the God of Chaos and the girl carved in runes vanished into shadow, draped in mourning, but burning with purpose.