THERE IS NO HOPE BUT US. THERE IS NO MERCY BUT US.
-Terry Pratchett, “Reaper Man”
~~~
The Carousel Boutique (the New Carousel Boutique, as opposed to the Original Carousel Boutique, which Rarity still only visited occasionally) was "Closed, by Appointment Only". Inside, Rarity was putting the finishing touches on a small tea table. There was an assortment of pastries (delicacies both from the Sugarcube and Sweet Apple Acres, out of respect to the dead), a steaming pot of tea, an elegant tablecloth edged with runes and filled with stars, and, in deference to the occasion, a vase holding a single lily.
Several weeks ago, she'd had a strange premonition, or, rather, a feeling of inevitability. She'd done some careful research, including a book still bearing traces of frosting stains, suggesting Pinkie Pie had been the last pony to read it. The conclusion was, to a romantic and dramatic soul, foregone. Rarity had been surprised to find that, according to all research, this feeling had come to her because she saw what was really there. But she supposed that looking for a pony's inner beauty, and seeking the best way to bring it to the forefront, required the ability to cast aside certain illusions.
In any case, while she was not prone to Pinkie Pie's level of excitability, Rarity knew that bucking with tradition, even one practiced only by a select few (especially one limited to an elite company), was to be done only for the sake of deliberate break.
And in any case, she knew more than anypony how it was nice to be appreciated once in a while.
Rarity picked up her teacup to take a calming sip, only to find the liquid poured through her with no resistance. She took a careful look around and confirmed that, yes, Rarity had managed to miss her own death. It was something of a comfort; she had not particularly been looking forward to the admittedly novel experience of dying. That she had managed to pass painlessly was a relief. It was with a note of satisfaction that Rarity saw she'd made quite an attractive corpse, and had managed to die quite neatly; she'd missed the table entirely in her collapse, leaving no mess. Much better than discovering one had left oneself plastered across an acre of woodland.
"Miss...Belle?"
Rarity turned to the strangely uncertain voice, smile on her ethereal lips. What met her sight was...well, the epithet "The Pale Horse" was entirely, mundanely accurate. What stood before her was a pale, thin earth pony with coat and mane as pale as milk, with sharp blue eyes that rivaled Pinkie Pie's for their intensity, and, Rarity determined, no Cutie Mark.
Correction: what stood before her appeared to be a pale earth pony. She was not so deluded to believe that Death was a pony any more than Time was.
Abruptly realizing she had been staring, Rarity gave a brief bow. "It is an honor, madam."
The Pale Horse took an uncertain step back, eyeing Rarity with some confusion. "Excuse me?"
"You are the Pale Horse, aren't you?" Rarity asked. "Ponification of the specter of Death? Only if you aren't I'm afraid you'll have to wait for an appointment with my assistant, once she cleans up in here. It'll be a few days, I think."
The other mare continued to stare before chuckling, shaking her head. "I am the Pale Horse, as you say. I am simply unused to such...deference."
Rarity sniffed. "It is hardly my fault other ponies have no sense of decorum. You are an important entity, one that does a necessary and, I suspect, under-appreciated job. Such deference is your due."
"I hope you will forgive me for disagreeing," the Pale Horse said softly. "Or at least not enforcing such an attitude upon the spirits of the departed."
Rarity chuckled in reply, part from politeness, and part from relief that the Pale Horse was...softer than she'd expected. The tradition of greeting Death, she realized, must have started with somepony more like Pinkie Pie than Rarity - a kindness, rather than a sign of deference.
"If you wish, we - or, rather, you - could sit for tea for a moment," Rarity said. "I had intended us to share a cup, but I seem to have not considered the side effects of death."
The Pale Horse stared at the table for several long moments before reaching over and snapping the lily off at the stem. At Rarity's expression, the incarnation of Death actually flushed a little. "I like lilies," she said defensively.
It was so utterly absurd that Rarity had to laugh. Not a giggle, not a chuckle, but a full-throated laugh. The Pale Horse seemed to take this as permission to finish her snack, and this sent Rarity into another bout of laughter.
When Rarity finished, the Pale Horse was again composed, watching her with the tiniest smirk on her face. And the moment seemed just right to draw a truth from the unicorn.
"You are kinder than I imagined," she blurted.
The Pale Horse nodded, considering, but then gave the tea table a more careful glance. "If you did not expect me to be kind, why did you provide this to me?"
Rarity sighed. "Because it is tradition. Because I doubt many ponies welcome you into their homes. Because it is polite to offer guests refreshments, especially if they are expected. Because otherwise I wouldn't be me. Take your pick."
The Pale Horse stared at the tea set for a long time, although Rarity personally doubted she was actually looking at the china. Her eyes had the distance of some pony weighing deep thoughts. "There was a time I would not have been so kind. Perhaps..." She gave Rarity a sidelong glance. "Would you mind if I shared?"
"Go ahead," Rarity replied gracefully, taking a seat on what her spirit still remembered as floor. "I don't have any pressing engagements."
"When a world is young, and Death is new, The Duty is all that Death knows. Death is a cold certainty, an inevitability against which life struggles. It would have always been so, I think, had it not been for a Death that took an interest. For...caring, he was retired, and forced into a mortal life.
"For those who are meant to be eternal, to lose that...he thought he understood mortals, now that he knew the terror of mortality. But he did not return to his old life until he had also learned to abandon that fear, to find reasons to risk that life, the last fleeting seconds of existence. And it was after this that he spoke to Azrael, the Great Death, the lesson each Death must now learn in time. WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR, IF NOT THE CARE OF THE REAPER MARE?"
She offered Rarity a gentle smile, as if she had revealed some great secret. And Rarity supposed she had; what pony would have sought out Death and asked her this?
"So when did you learn this?" Rarity asked.
The Pale Horse's eyes went distant, and, Rarity thought, a little moist, as if gazing back upon a long-remembered scene. "It was a long time ago. Suffice to say, the end result was that I have a heart. And that means, wherever possible, I will ease the passage from this life." She looked at Rarity again, expression placid and unmoving. "I think you understand."
Rarity nodded, because otherwise she would have to think of something to say. But she realized as she did that such a response was unfair; she owed the Pale Horse some reply. "Thank you. For sharing. I think...you and I are very much alike."
At that, the Pale Horse chuckled, stepping forward in a deliberate, and final, way. "I come for everypony, Rarity. Why should I not have reflections of all of them?"
It made sense, Rarity thought, and a fitting revelation for one's last moments on earth.