//------------------------------// // Awake // Story: Death Becomes Her // by daOtterGuy //------------------------------// Somnambula opened her eyes. Her vision was treated to a gorgeous sunny sky filled with fluffy white clouds. There was the sensation of rough wood underneath her back. She was lying prone in something. Confused, she lifted herself into a sitting position, then observed the rest of her surroundings. She was situated inside of a coffin surrounded by a field of white poppies, which stretched off into the distance with no end in sight. Only the occasional willow tree broke the monotony of the idyllic landscape. This did nothing to clear her bewilderment. She could not recall any place that looked like the one she’d now found herself in, nor how she had ended up there in the first place. Any attempt at remembrance caused a sharp pain to stab her mind, further frustrating her at the potentially precarious situation she was in. Hoping to find some clue to her predicament, she ran her hoof alongside the inside of the coffin. It brushed against two pieces of cold metal. Curious, she picked up the offending objects. Two gold bits. Circular disks embossed with the head of the pharaoh on one side and a sphinx on the other. “I see you have payment.” Somnambula whipped her head toward the deep voice. A massive pegasus stallion greeted her. He had pitch-black wings and fur that seemed to eat the light around him. His face was painted gray, framed by a heavy black mane. Bright white eyes stared down at her in boredom. All at once, context snapped into place. Her mind provided a name to the one that greeted her. “Thanatos,” Somnambula said. “In the death,” He replied. Another piece fell into place. “I died.” “You did.” “How?” Somnambula demanded. “Miserably. Like everyone else.” She scowled. “You’re rather unhelpful.” “And you’re proving to be predictable.” A snort of frustration. “Would it truly be so hard—” “Patience. It will come to you momentarily.” He snorted. “Mortals.” Somnambula wanted to retort, but bit back her response. Angering the harbinger of death was unwise and likely to only worsen her predicament. Instead, she closed her eyes and waited. After some time passed, it came to her. The war. The plague. The death. Her village. Her people. Gone. She opened her eyes. Tears flowed down her face. “Are you ready to go?” Thanatos asked. His tone matched the apathy he looked at Somnambula with. “Are we not already in the fields of Elysium?” “We are in a part of it. Specifically, the boring part.” “... You preside over the domain of death, do you not?” “Yes, though I have limits.” “Can you tell what happened to my people?” “Scattered across Tartarus on a trot that will lead them nowhere. Unlike you, they didn’t have the benefit of being a national hero and dozens of people to ensure they had their toll.” “Is there a way to set them free? Take them back to the land of the living?” Thanatos snorted. “No.” “Truly?” Somnambula asked. “Not unless you want to kill Hades and steal his staff.” “And where might he be?” “Who, Hades?” He laughed. A manic gleam drowned out the boredom in his eyes. “You can’t kill a god.” “Legends within my priesthood beg to differ,” Somnambula retorted. “A mortal can perform the deed should they have the assistance of another god.” “And where will you find another god willing to help you?” She stared at Thanatos with her tear-stricken face, a fire of determination in her eyes. “Our texts claimed that you despise the other gods.” “Those texts are correct,” Thanatos replied, bemused. “What must I do to garner your help?” A moment to absorb the statement, before Thanatos grinned. A malicious thing. “I can think of something you could do.”