The Reaper calmly walked towards her. The inky black folds of his cloak whispered as he moved; so weightless that it seemed to be made of mist, yet it hung dark and heavy as if filled with tears. In his skeleton hand he clutched not a scythe, but a single hourglass, hanging from a thin and rusty chain.

She watched from her knees as he came to her and slowly, yet swiftly, held out the hourglass. Slow or fast, she could not tell. For her time had been stopped, frozen with the single grain of sand that she saw caught in the middle. The last grain of sand. She watched as the Reaper moved his hooded face to the hourglass, then back to her. His hidden gaze met her open eyes, and then looked through them. She knew he was gazing at her very soul, but she could not close her eyes, could not move to veil them. ...And she found that she did not want to. She wanted the dark and silent figure before her to see it. To see everything.

When he had finished, he turned his attention back to the hourglass. Moving his hand to clutch the base, he gripped the chain with his other hand and pulled. With an empty metallic sound the chain broke off, leaving a small hole in the top of the hourglass. Letting the chain slide through his fingers he bent down to her still form. Reaching out, he laid his hand flat upon her chest. His touch was cold and calming, until suddenly he bent his fingers, making it feel like he was clawing through her heart. She wanted to scream, but she could not even breathe. She could only watch as he proceeded to take out her soul. He straightened and stood with it resting in his opened hand.

It was a small globe with wrapping tendrils of darkened mist, circling a small glowing light. The light flickered like a candle, growing brightly but swiftly through the gaps in the darkness, as if it was trying to escape its cage. Though every time it would flare up, a new wisp of darkness would quickly cover it.

The Reaper held it long enough for her to see it, then balling his hand into a fist he crushed it. She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Only watch as he slowly opened his hand to reveal her soul, crushed into small, small pieces of light and dark alike; so small they rested like sand on his bones. Gently and carefully he began pouring the pieces through the hole in the hourglass. They filled up the top halfway, then pushed the single grain down and began to flow into the bottom. As they fell, she felt the flow of air go in and out of her lungs, felt feeling and motion come back into her limbs, felt her eyes close.

When she opened them again, the Reaper was gone. On the ground was the rusty, broken chain and the flowing hourglass, but the hole had been sealed. She sat on her knees and stared at it, not looking up until a pair of small hands reached down and picked it up. She snapped her head up to see a young girl standing in front of her. The child’s eyes were unreadable as she gazed at the hourglass, but when the girl looked at the woman in front of her she smiled.

“This,” the child said gently, putting the hourglass into her hands, “is yours. It will never fall slower, never fall faster, never stop until the last grain has fallen. It will always flow as if each grain is a tear, falling for each moment of your life. But...” the child paused to whisper into her ear, “whether they are tears of sorrow and despair... or tears of joy and happiness... will always be your choice.”