It's Saturday here~ Also: [video]
Death is standing, looking at a man who has her chalk-white skin and unkempt mop of black hair. He himself is seated on the rain-soaked rocky ground, at the edge of a precipice. He looks not at her, but off into the distance, where jagged peaks bite at a sky dark with storm-clouds.
The silence between them is hers to break. "Dream? Give me your hand."
Her brother at last turns to her, his eyes like obsidian glass, black and sharp and bright, all the worlds that never were reflected there. The moment stretches, and then his fingertips brush hers.
There is a flash, and it too is sharp and bright, the shattering of a mirror or the striking of an arc.
Then, nothing.
The silence between them is hers to break. "Dream? Give me your hand."
Her brother at last turns to her, his eyes like obsidian glass, black and sharp and bright, all the worlds that never were reflected there. The moment stretches, and then his fingertips brush hers.
There is a flash, and it too is sharp and bright, the shattering of a mirror or the striking of an arc.
Then, nothing.