Twilight pushed open the doors to her castle with a tired sigh and slowly made her way into the dimly lit kitchen. She was half expecting her friends to be waiting impatiently at the train station for her return, but it was 1am and a few of them had actual lives and jobs and stuff like that. The trip home had been more uncomfortable than usual; her neck had been stiff the entire time, not surprising considering the semi-accidental decapitation she has just suffered. Luckily, the other two princesses had managed to snap her head back into place with a noise and effort uncannily similar to snapping toy building blocks together.
Carefully flying up, she began to untie all the 'Twilight Kicked The Bucket' banners from her walls and ceiling. There were... a surprising amount of decorations prepared for her death. They were all in shockingly high quality too, clearly not a rushed job. Just how long had Pinkie been preparing for her death for? Probably better for her own emotional state not to ask.
At least somepony, or more likely, somedragon had done her dishes. As much of a slob as she could be at times, the one thing she would not stand for was dirty dishes lying around. So many research papers on the bacterial hazards that can bring into the household.
With another gentle sigh, she sat herself down at the table. She had never gone this long without reading before. In her defense, she was dead for most of the duration, but still! This was unacceptable.
Her kitchen table had been covered in flowers from the mourning ponies the day before, but they were in the way of her reading, so she shoved the entire pile of them into a large vase and placed it rather roughly on the windowsill. It was finally time to get back to work. Surprisingly, the spooky looking book that has apparently killed her was still sitting open on the kitchen table, as if nopony saw it, or at least, nopony felt brave enough to move it.
Twilight immediately plopped herself down and began studying the pages again, trying to make sense of the weird squiggles and un-equine writing that permeated most of the pages. An ignorant pony might have thought the fact that she was studying a book at 1am in the morning was due to her new afflicted form and the lack of sleep it required, but no, she was just like that. She considered it 'getting to bed at a good time' so long as she had fallen unconscious at the table before the sun came up, but now she didn't even have to worry about that!
Part of her brain was clearly starting to register her new state of being as a somewhat beneficial thing. Imagine all the time she could have saved throughout her life by never having to sleep or drink during her studying! All the books she could have read in that time! She still apparently needed to eat, though neither Luna or Celestia were aware of exactly what it was that she had to consume.
Seconds turned into minutes, and minutes quickly gave way to hours, yet Twilight did not stop her frenzied examination of the book. It had been a couple hours now, just past 3am, when 'something' finally startled her from her studying.
That 'something' having been a large scythe blade suddenly pierced through her chest.
She slowly turned around, (well, as far around as she could with her body pinned to the chair via stab wound,) and glanced backwards at what appeared to be a young foal. They were small, smaller than the crusaders, and covered head to hoof in a wispy black cloak. Despite their diminutive stature, they were gripping the scythe nearly triple their height with just their mouth.
Twilight blinked a few times. "Can... I help you?" She asked. How to be a Normal Functioning Member of Society didn't prepare her for this! Unless maybe the section on being mugged would be appropriate? No, that chapter specifically mentions knives and other short bladed weapons, not farming implements! Useless book!
The foal looked up with her in alarm, their hood falling off their head with the movement, revealing a young, white coated foal in a long black cloak. "Oh gosh." They said in a nervous voice. "It didn't work. Why didn't it work? It's never not worked!"
Twilight could only assume it was a young colt by the voice, though with children it was always so hard to tell. "Is something wrong?" The impaled mare asked patiently. She was used to dealing with foals, with the constant tutoring the CMC needed. Foals were easier to understand than most ponies, so they made surprisingly good company. Terrible conversationalists, though. Parents need to teach their children better if they don't even understand basic quantum-arcano theories.
The colt continued fretting. "Maybe if I try again?" He mumbled to himself, pulling the large scythe out and impaling it into a different part of Twilight's back. "Did it work this time?" He asked her.
Twilight blinked, looking down at the second puncture wound. Neither appeared to be bleeding, perhaps she was finally all coagulated. "Did what work?" She asked back at him.
"Darn!" He cursed, rubbing his eyes with his hooves. "Shoot! Crud!" He continued shouting out the worst swears most foals know. "I'm going to be in so much trouble." He whimpered, dropping the scythe to the floor with a heavy 'thunk' and sitting down, wrapping his forelegs around his knees and burying his face into his cloak.
Now, although the child had just stabbed her twice, clearly the existence of a crying colt was a much bigger deal that her large gaping wounds. Standing up from her seat, Twilight walked over to the little guy and say down beside him. "Are you okay?" She asked, silently thanking How to be a Normal Functioning Member of Society and apologizing to it. The book did, at least, have a chapter covering comforting crying ponies.
"You're dead." The colt whimpered.
"Yes, I am." Twilight replied helpfully.
"Then why didn't it work!" He shouted, staring up at her with watery eyes. Eyes, that she had just noticed, were lacking any form of iris or pupil. They were just bright white. Weird. Some sort of ocular disease, perhaps? "It's supposed to work when ponies are dead and aren't leaving their corpses! This is my job!"
"Your job? What's your job?" She asked, gently patting the colt on the back.
"I'm Death." He replied, before going back to crying.