Work Text:
"Tommy?" A scream rings through the SMP, horrified.
A new voice.
An Angel looks up as his crows take flight, and he spreads his wings, shakes off the bindings, for they are healed by now. He is an Angel of his Lady, and he can never be kept from her for long.
(For he knows that voice, as furious as it is. That's his Lady.)
"Wilbur? Techno?"
She's angry. The Lady Goddess of Death is angry.
The goddess of cold and the void and the long sleep from which no-one wakes is angry. There are stars, cold stars glittering in her eyes, and her dress flows around her ankles as her veil stays over her face, a grey, gauzy fabric that does nothing to hide the Lady's anger.
"Do you know how long it took to raise those boys? How much blood, sweat and tears were poured into my sons?!"
She takes a step towards the offender, the ground shaking under her step, and holds her arm out for her Angel and his murder to perch.
"You have incurred an impossible debt!" Another scream as she moves, unstopped, for she is Death, and Death can never be stopped, not even if you tried. "The entirety of my bloodline is done in by the likes of you! A false god?! How dare you." She hisses, a low thing, like the sparking of gas and flame and the sputtering, stuttering of it fading and going out.
She screams, high and loud, and her Angel and his murder knows what others do not.
Nobody- especially the one who had killed the Lady's and her Angel's bloodline -will be getting out of this alive.
Not if their Lady could do something about this.
And she was Death. The end of all things, the painful, hurtful end; the painless, harmless end. The lady of the crows and the lady of chrysanthemums.
She is all of those things and more.