Death is My BFFLAD Rewritten (Book 2 of the Rewritten Death Chronicles)

Chapter 11: Life Line

The Creator is back, my beautiful cupcakes! ;)

Please do me a huge favor and vote/leave feedback on the chapter if you enjoyed! xoxo 

* * *

I remembered her.

I followed the woman with the spiraling golden blonde hair as she slogged down the black hallway with hunched, trembling shoulders. She cupped a flickering candle in her hands and wore black silken robes that faintly touched the floor. The wind outside pushed and howled against the walls like high-pitched screams, challenging the harsh sobs that wrenched from her throat.

Suddenly she tripped over her robes and crumbled to her knees, grasping the candle before it fell.

She began to collect herself but paused, listening to the night as if she'd felt something in the air. If it called to her, I did could not hear it.

She whipped her gaze over shoulder at me–through me. Death's mother. This was Death's mother. The light from the candle caught the flickers of surprise in her green tear stained eyes. There was a smudge of dried blood on her cheek. Around her neck, she wore the pendant identical to mine.

"Alexandru?" Her voice was soft at first and leaked with disbelief. Then it rose as the flame in her hands enlarged. " ALEXANDRU!" His mother ran right through me, back from the way in which she came. Her candle dropped as her robes flew back like waves of obsidian ink. She vanished into the night.

I ran down the passageway she went down. My feet knew the way. There was no going back now. I opened a door narrow enough for my frame and slid in. It was blistering hot and cramped with minimal furniture. Along the walls were black and grey candles at different lifespans, flickering wildly and dispersed in patterns around the room. It reeked of herbs, smoke, and blood. My eyes would have watered from the stench in the air, had my senses not been disc

At the corner of the room was Death's mother. She had an odd look engraved deeply into her features. She turned towards the wall and began to chant in a language I didn't understand, drawing symbols on the wall with blood.

In the heart of the room, and the midst of the candles and the herbs, was a man as pale as a corpse, strapped to a low bed. He was statuesque and herculean, with longer gold hair that was matted and soaked with sweat. His face was turned away from me, and the contrast between this man and the one I currently knew was significant. Still, I knew it was Death by the jagged scar of his right eye. This was Alexandru. The only part of him that moved was his chest, which moved up and down in an unnatural, rapid rhythm. There was pattern of stitches, which held raw, bloody skin together, right over his heart.

His mother's chanting got louder, shriller, urgent. Flames rose to life to my right, drawing my attention to a certain pattern of candles. An animal lay at the center of it. It was black, furry, and stiff. Lifeless. A cat.

Death–Alexandru–suddenly thrashed on the bed. His eyes were still closed but the muscles in his torso, neck, arms and legs were constricting and his head whipped side to side as if he were trapped in a nightmare. He let out a noise that was too throaty and velvety to be a man's and as he did so, veins swelled outward form his heart, pumping black liquid throughout his entire body. The blackness snaked along his flat stomach, down his legs. It twisted up his neck, his jaw. It spread over his face like branches and began to leak from his nose and mouth.

One by one, the candles began to go out.

Alexandru bolted upwards from the bed, muscles stretching, tearing the restraints. His eyes flew open and his pupils were round and human. But then they began to pulsate, enlarging over the frame of his mismatched irises. He trashed his head like a rabid animal, expelling bloody teeth from his mouth. Red plunged bone sprouted from his gums, sharp as harshening planes of his face. He opened his jaws and let out a noise a man could not make. The sound came in fragments, each cry intensifying like a crescendo, a yowl of thick agony mingled with the roar of an animal.