Chapter 6 Death is in no rush. This is a concept that the living struggle to grasp. No, Mara is not stalking souls, awaiting their demise. She quite enjoys the slow moments, actually. Wandering the slums of Ilya provides Death with plenty of time to ponder. She accompanied a very peeved Lenny from the castle, treading the long path right alongside him. Of course, Mara can step between planes and appear beside any soul (unbeknownst to them) of her choosing, but not tonight. Tonight she will spend time with herself. When Death grew tired of struggling to keep up with the Imperial's long strides, she abandoned him to wander the slums. Now she weaves between crumbling buildings, lifting the hem of her cloak to dodge murky puddles. Despite the late hour, Loot remains alive within the shadows. These self-proclaimed Elites scatter the market street, content to bask in the moonlight. They converse in clumps and play cards beneath the starry sky. Some things never change, it seems. (If she were more than a mere shadow in this realm, she might have dealt herself into the next hand. Mara is no stranger to Ilya's gambling games.) Pointedly avoiding a nearby street (certain memories are best left buried), Mara continues her leisurely stroll down Loot. There is a contagious sort of freedom that resides here, as though one could be anything beneath Ilya's night sky. Perhaps even alive. "... seen a woman with purple hair? She probably had a bitchy sort of look on her face?" Death knows that voice. It drifts from a nearby alley, spouting descriptions that repeatedly include the use of "condescending." Mara spots the Imperial-his uniform is a beacon in the moonlight-striding from the cluster of bleary-eyed individuals he has just questioned. Lenny turns a corner. His Death-shaped shadow follows. She watches him closely, noting the way he stops abruptly and tilts his head. It looks as though he is listening for something. So when he sets off once more, rather decisively this time, Mara is fascinated to find their lost Tele precisely where Lenny evidently determined. Yes, very intriguing, this Hyper. Blair has her back pressed against a sooty wall until her Imperial declares, "So, hating sticky buns was just a means of distraction, right?" "Plagues!" What a funny curse Blair blurts at his sudden appearance. Death wonders if she should take it personally. Then, impressively, the Tele is furious a moment later. "How the hell did you find me?" Death has been wondering this herself. She's not even entirely sure how Lenny knew his assignment was no longer in the castle. But Mara frets not-she will find out soon enough. "I need to know that your dislike for sticky buns was only a tactic used to get rid of me," Lenny responds evenly, folding his arms. What is it with these sticky buns? They certainly weren't around in Death's time, but she is starting to feel a bit left out. "Well, it wasn't," Blair bites. "In fact, my disdain for them is only outshined by my loathing for you." Moonlight carves out the unimpressed look on the Imperial's face. "That's a bit dramatic. Even for you." "Leave, gingersnap," Blair demands. "Before I change my mind about letting you." Lenny promptly ignores her threat. "How did you escape?" A mocking laugh. "It doesn't matter. You should be thanking me. Now you can go back to your sad, little life as an Imperial and stop pretending like you're guarding me." Mara leans against the wall, making herself comfortable. The show is about to begin. Lenny pulls that mask from his face to display the confusion beneath. "I'm not following." "A shocker to no one." He carries on, undeterred. "Where the hell do you think you're going?" "Anywhere but Ilya," Blair retorts sharply. Oh, this is better than Death could have hoped. Lenny shakes his head. "Let me get this straight." He makes an admirable show of glancing around the shadowed slums. "You want to run away from your cushy life? To live on the streets?" "No, I want to live in Tando," she blurts. Blair can't seem to stifle the onslaught of slippery words. "I am getting out of here. And I don't care if I have to cross the Scorches to do it." Death cannot imagine this well-manicured girl surviving such brutality. She has already gathered far fiercer souls from the sandy grave, each of them fools scrambling toward a better life. But Fate laughs in the face of hope. "The Scorches?" The Imperial practically laughs. "Paedyn barely survived crossing it-" "Oh, yes," the Tele mocks. "Because the Ordinary is just the pinnacle of strength." "Blair, just listen to me for a second!" Mara blinks. It seems that Gingersnap has... well, snapped. He sighs, deeply. "Let's just talk about this, okay? Why do you want to leave Ilya? Aside from a single day trapped in your room, the life you live is pretty damn good." Blair flicks a strand of lilac hair behind her shoulder. "Of course you would think that." "I grew up here." The Imperial gestures to the crumbling city, his expression uncharacteristically stern. "In these slums. So, yeah. I would say your life is pretty damn good." Blair considers this. Her look of disdain never falters. "Fine. You don't need to know my reasonings. I just want out of here." That brown gaze darkens further still. "And you're in my way." Death wonders what it is she wishes to run from. Surely something tragically human, like a public embarrassment or a blemish that simply won't fade. But that satirical thought passes quickly, as it does not feel right for this soul. Mara, as vigilant as ever, is beginning to believe that there is more to Miss Archer than meets the eye. Perhaps her stony exterior is the product of being hurt one too many times before. Death can sympathize with harsh women-life forced them to become so. "I can't just let you run away," Lenny manages through an exasperated laugh. "The king would be furious with me. Not to mention your father-" "He will understand better than most," Blair muses. Pinching the bridge of his nose in a dramatic show of annoyance, the Imperial mutters, "It doesn't matter. I could lose my position as an Imperial if I just let you waltz from the castle." A good point, Mara thinks. "Firstly"-the Tele raises a finger in Lenny's face-"let's not pretend that you're aiding me in any way. Secondly"-another finger-"you are a Hyper. A buffer between Paedyn and me. Everyone knows you're not capable of handling me." This doesn't seem to sit well with the Imperial. Once again, his strength and capability have been called into question. "The king expects me to keep you in the castle," he says between a flash of teeth. "So find another job." The moon dances off the Imperial's cerise curls when he shakes his head in disbelief. "You really don't get it, do you? Some of us are forced to actually work for what we have." He inches closer to the Tele. "I wasn't handed a cushy life or some ridiculously powerful ability. I got here on my own." Lenny makes sense to Death. He is honest, determined to make something of himself. This is the type of human Mara prefers-one who does not hide behind embellishments. This Imperial is boldly bare. "Here?" Blair scoffs. "Your big dream was to be a lazy guard?" "Yes, because I want to be respected despite my ability," Lenny counters with that admirable candor. "I know being an Imperial means nothing to you, but it is everything to me." Vulnerability seeps into each word, and that alone takes strength. "And if you run away, it will only prove what everyone already thinks of me-that I'm just another weak Hyper." Mara tilts her head at him. It's a bit ironic, really, that he doesn't seem to realize how much strength vulnerability like this requires. Lenny draws a deep breath. Blair remains unflinching. Several seconds pass. Death leans in. "You can't stop me, gingersnap." The Imperial clasps his hands together. "Fine. Then we are doing this my way." Blair finds this comical. "Excuse me?" "You can't just take off," Lenny explains. "You'll ruin everything I've built for myself. Not to mention that someone-whether that be your parents or the king-will always be searching for you." His next words incite a flicker of doubt from the Tele. "You'll never truly be free from whatever it is you so desperately wish to escape." Blair says nothing. Her lack of snide remark only spurs on the Imperial. "We have to find a better way to make you disappear. Ensure you can live your life as you please without fear of being found." He pauses to throw her a skeptical look. "Assuming that is what you want." "It is." Death thinks the Tele's answer seems a bit too eager. As if noticing that herself, Blair adds a lazy scoff. "And you are going to come up with this plan?" Lenny runs a hand through his unruly hair. Mara, eternally opinionated, concludes that it needs to be trimmed. "If it means I don't lose everything I've worked so hard for, then yes, I'll come up with a damn good plan." "I doubt that," Blair mocks. "But I'll give you a week. When you inevitably fail, I'm disappearing." She brushes past him. He trails her at a respectable distance. Still, they somehow manage to argue all the way to the castle. The Tele uses her mind to repeatedly pelt the Hyper with pebbles while Death watches from afar, lurking in the shadows like the living so dare to assume. How incredibly hopeless, these two beings. And yet, defiantly, their souls still strain to meet. Mara thinks on such absurdity as she strolls through the quiet castle. Leaving the perplexing pair to squabble all the way to their room, Death proceeds to haunt the shadowed halls in peace. It's quite late, ensuring every servant has found a pillow to rest their head upon. Still, the inky corridors echo with the sound of dozing Imperials, their snoring thoroughly rattling the windowpanes. Death isn't quite sure what it is she searches for. Something exciting would be most appreciated. Though Mara hardly looks it from the outside (she is not one for expressions, remember), she finds great joy in the unexpected. Though, there is little that still surprises her. As if summoned by such a challenge, the king rounds a dark corner. Hmm. It seems Death stands corrected. Stumbling upon Kitt Azer at this hour is certainly worth her bewilderment. "Mara," he says, sounding equally perplexed and pleased by her presence. It's still odd, being acknowledged by the living-or rather, the doomed. Death might have forgotten her own name if the king had asked for it a moment later. Such intimacy has grown foreign to her. No soul-this side of the eternity she serves-has ever cared to call her anything but an atrocity. A monster. Mara's gaze trails over this king. He does not look like the many others she has dragged to the Mors-harsh and weathered. No, moonlight drapes over the soft features of a boy forced to become so much more. Blond hair waves atop his head, unruly with the remnants of sleep, though his green gaze is alert. Every feature is oddly strong yet subtle, unique yet fitting. Death must admit, with a practiced flippancy, that this man is hardly terrible to look at. In fact, she beheld a variant of this face many times before. The shadow of familiarity there, the memory of another who shared his countenance, is precisely what drew her back to Ilya at all. "Why are you awake at this hour?" Mara asks evenly. Her voice has gotten very little use in the last several decades, so the soft sound of it occasionally startles her. Even she agrees that it hardly fits with Death's description. Kitt smiles. The action suits him. "I could ask you the same thing." Death answers truthfully-another thing the living would likely find surprising. "I don't sleep." The king runs a hand through his tangled, golden hair. "Yes, it does feel that way, doesn't it? I can't remember the last time I slept through the night either." Not quite what Mara meant, but she enjoys watching humans draw their own conclusions. Just as Kitt had done this morning when deeming her a Healer. She considers this a compliment, actually. A lifetime ago, she yearned to be addressed as such. Death eyes this man who stands with one foot in the grave. "What does a king do when he cannot sleep?" "Wander," he sighs. "Think." "A better use of one's time than unconsciousness." With a soft chuckle, Kitt leans against the wall to look out a moon-drenched window. "Your fellow Healers certainly don't agree." "Well, they don't wish to spend any more time with themselves than they have to." Mara laces her fingers. "So they beg for sleep." Kitt stares at Death. She thinks, biasedly, that he looks rather awed by her. "Is that why you are awake? To spend more time with yourself?" Mara's stoic expression remains. "In a sense. I am searching the shadows for myself." The moon leans in, peering through the panes of glass. "Do you not know who you are, Mara?" Death likes the sound of her name. She had forgotten. "Not anymore," she answers simply. Kitt wears the look of one who has been utterly seen for the first time. "And... and you plan to figure that out in the middle of the night?" "Is it not the darkest parts of ourselves that ultimately make us who we are?" The king can't help but smile. "Perhaps you are a Scholar." A long moment passes. Maybe a dozen. Death no longer has a heartbeat to count. Dipping her head, Mara steps from the puddle of moonlight. She has never been good at farewells. So she flees them altogether. Nearly halfway down the hall, Kitt's voice has her halting. "Mara?" Yes, she quite likes hearing her name. And it has nothing to do with the young king saying it, of course. Death turns to face his fading soul-a flickering, muted blue. "May I join you in your search?" he asks with a touch of humor. Mara tilts her head at him. "You are looking for yourself?" Kitt's long strides carry him swiftly toward Death. Fitting, this depiction of his fate. "No," the king admits. "I'm hoping to find something far better." In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...