Life's a bitch, and then you die.

Death had heard various rants from the dead for gazillions of years. He had been called many names and was never irked by them. But he had never been called an IT or a Thingy. Never had he been challenged for what he does and never...and he means never, had he been judged on how he looked.

"Hello! White is not my color! Can you hear me? White is not my color!"

Death rubbed his temple. He looked at his companion — the new death. The man with his now glittering black cloak looked back at him, shook his head, and then murmured, "Forgive me. But I have no idea how to handle this."

"You should have delivered her to where she's supposed to go days prior. Why haven't you done so?" The thundering voice of Original Death echoed inside the chamber, shaking all the furniture inside.

"I—I tried. But... She... Well... I," the new Death stuttered.

"Forget it," Original Death answered. He stood from his throne and walked toward the door. Before he got a chance to grab the knob though, the new Death yelled at him, "Majesty, this one is different. This soul is a new breed. You may want to prepare yourself before you face her."

Old death snickered. "A soul is a soul. A human is a human. There is nothing that I haven't seen before."

The new Death watched with dread as his master walked out of the room. Shaking his head he raised the hem of his cloak and stared at the dazzling, glittering particles that clung to his clothing. They were pink and gold. He then smiled and thought to himself, a little color isn't so bad. It's giving.