Lord Alaric de Valois, a man sculpted from the finest marble of the French aristocracy, lay still. The silken sheets, once so comforting, felt like lead against his pale skin. The air, thick with the scent of lilies, held no familiar comfort. Instead, it hummed with an unseen energy, a symphony of colours and whispers that danced on the edges of his perception. He was dead. Or, rather, not dead. He was... elsewhere.
He wasn't in the familiar embrace of the afterlife, the pearly gates, or fiery pits of his religious teachings. There were no saints, no angels, and certainly no judgment. Instead, he was surrounded by a landscape unlike any he had ever imagined. Towering obsidian spires pierced a sky of amethyst, their summits touched by clouds that shimmered with an inner light. The ground beneath him was a mosaic of shifting colours, a tapestry woven from starlight and shadow.
A figure, cloaked in a mist of inky darkness, materialized before him. It was Death. Not the skeletal figure of folklore, but a being of pure, profound shadow, a void that held the weight of all the universe.
"You are here now," the voice, a whisper that seemed to echo through the very fabric of existence, announced. It was devoid of emotion, yet Alaric felt a chilling presence.
Alaric, even in death, felt the familiar surge of aristocratic pride. He sat up, though his body protested, and met the gaze of Death. He saw no fear, no regret. Just an unreadable emptiness. He looked at the figure again.
Death tilted its head, a gesture that seemed to shift the very air around them. "You have the right to one question," it said.
Alaric, though his brain struggled to grasp the absurdity of his position, felt no fear. He thought of his family, his estates, his life. He thought of the women he had loved, the feasts he had attended, the battles he had fought. He considered the complex tapestry of his life, the good and the bad, the loves and losses. But when the moment arrived, nothing came to mind. He simply remained still, his eyes meeting Death.
Death's expression remained unchanged. "Why?" it asked, the question echoing through the silent realm.
Alaric remained silent.
"Why," Death repeated, its voice growing a little sharper, "do you not ask about your past? Your family? Your possessions? Why do you not seek answers about the nature of your death?"
It was death now who asked the question
And yet only silence was what remained
"You have a peculiar choice, Lord de Valois," Death's voice, a whisper that resonated through the very fabric of existence, brushed against Alaric's consciousness. "You could have asked anything."
Alaric remained still, unmoving, his eyes fixed on the swirling chaos around him. He didn't ask. He felt no need to know the answers to questions that seemed trivial in this place. He had seen the grand tapestry of life, the intricate threads of joy and sorrow, and now, this… this was something else entirely. This was beyond comprehension.
Death tilted its form, a gesture that was both imposing and strangely gentle. "Why, then?" it asked, its voice a low hum that seemed to permeate the very air.
Alaric met its gaze, if you can call it that, not with defiance, but with a quiet understanding. "You seem tired," he said, his voice surprisingly clear amidst the swirling energy. "I thought perhaps a moment's respite would be helpful."
Death chuckled, a sound that echoed through the realm like distant thunder. "Respite? My dear Alaric, in this realm, there are no lies. And I have never encountered a soul who has worried about my well being, except perhaps the children who fear the darkness. You are different." A pause. "Tell me, why this choice?"
"I saw your weariness," Alaric responded simply. "And I thought… a moment of stillness might be a gift."
Death's form shifted again, a flicker of something akin to amusement in its ethereal presence. "A gift? A peculiar sort of gift. There was a man once, you see, a man without wants. His name escapes me, but his story is worth the telling. He possessed the world's riches, the knowledge of centuries, the understanding of the universe. Yet, he cared more for the well-being of a stranger he'd never met than for any of it. He saw the world in its entirety, but found more worth in the simple act of comforting a lost child." Death paused, allowing Alaric to absorb this tale. "He saw the universe, and he saw a child. And he found more importance in the child."
Alaric felt a stirring in his chest, a sensation of something deep and profound. This tale of a man without wants resonated with something within him, a sense of balance, a harmony that transcended the fleeting nature of life.
"And you?" Alaric asked, his voice barely a breath.
Death's form flickered, a shift in its essence. "I am the balance between the known and the unknown, the whispered and the shouted. I am the echo of a thousand lives, and yet I am more than the sum of those echoes. I am death, and I am life."
"What do you want?" Alaric asked. This question hung in the air, a simple statement of connection.
"Perhaps," Death said softly, "the answer to that question is more important than I."
May I amuse you with my tale, until you find your answer
Alaric asked into the void, not knowing where to look when death seemed like it was all around him.
To Alaric's surprise, the world around him began to shift until he was in a barely lit room with an empty chair in front of him
too large for any one man, more akin to a throne, yet so simple that it may belong to a peasant.
"Please do" echoed from all directions in this empty room
Death was nowhere to be seen, but Alaric knew instinctively that he was still there.
"So I will my Friend".....