City of Bones

“You mustn’t tell them of your affairs,” His voice was steady, matter-of-fact. His slate grey eyes, cold and reflective, rested upon the small, new-born child resting in his brother’s grasp. Although only weeks old, there was already a clear intelligence there. The baby did not struggle against her father’s hold, returning Death’s gaze with a poise that was beyond her days. “That child is an abomination,” He tried again, but already knew that his brother, who was not truly his brother, had no interest in anything that he had to say. Death paused, leaning backwards slightly, lacing his fingers behind his head. He did not make eye-contact with the man across from him, but maintained an acute awareness of any movement that he made; his friend was clearly unhinged, and was physically in much better shape than Death himself. “If this is the hill that you plan to die on,” He mused, studying him, “are you sure that she will be able to perform when the time comes?” Although he saw fit to attempt at another angle, Death already had his answers. He could see them in the way that he cradled the child; it was almost unnatural and most certainly uncomfortable, not the way that a father should hold his first and only child. He held her unnecessarily far away from his chest, his hands looped clumsily underneath her tiny body. As if he didn’t want her to become accustomed to his touch. His obsidian eyes shined. “She will perform, because that is all that she will ever know. As God is my witness, this child will burn His kingdom to ashes.”