Re: first class ; baths
The boy that lingered thought that more might appreciate Death if they were to get to know him, to know the thoughts that went on in that ancient head. He didn't hold answers or resolutions to a life of questions and agony, but there was peace in his words anyways. He swallowed hard, taking in those words and feeling the heaviness of them, the heaviness of his own heart that had felt and hurt more than he felt it should.
"It doesn't simply vanish, does it? You take it into yourself, and in its place you offer peace. An unfair trade for you, I believe." The boy closed his lips around the words, listening to the sound of the voices that came from the scythe that lay in Death's lap. A moment of music, chaos in the beauty, and the boy turned towards it, watching as Death's hand shushed it, calmed it, catching only a moment of the gleam before it faded away.
A moment later, just a blink of his eyes, and Death was standing beside him. The boy didn't move, feet still in the water, thinking, wondering. "I don't need to say goodbye," he said softly. "I'm sure she will understand, if she thinks of me at all." The boy pushed himself up, his half-nature more apparent as he stood, bones creaking, cracking. This existence was not meant to be, and even now he was falling apart. "I am ready now," he said softly, and he looked up at Death, reached out to offer his hand. "And I greet you as a friend. I am not afraid, but I am tired." He was just a boy, still so young, but he had felt a lot in his handful of years. And he was ready.