PROMPT: Write a story below 500 words on the theme of "Death".

CW(s): non-explicit description of a dead body.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Ange watched with sunken eyes as the soul left that woman's body.

The white smoke whispered to him as it billowed from her mouth and hovered above them, unsure of where to go.

Ignoring it, the young man gazed down at the husk it had left behind and slowly let go of the hand, now cold and lifeless, that had clung to his not a moment ago. The heel of his freed hand rose to rub away tears that weren't there.

From the corner of his eye, Ange spotted the hem of a cloak the color of night as it approached him and the body he was kneeling over.

When he finally gathered the energy to look up, Death already had the soul, now a swirling white sphere, trapped in its skeletal hands.

It spared not a single glance towards the dead body as it leaned in closer to inspect its prize, life's warm light, as unique as the countless others it had harvested. It was endlessly gentle, holding the light like a mother would a newborn child.

"I lied," Ange whispered after a while, staring at the woman's corpse half buried under rubble. "Told her everything was going to be okay. Just like with the others."

He turned just in time to see Death opening its cloak and letting that soul join the other lights.

"I can't do this anymore," his voice trembled and the tears finally came.

Death leaned over Ange. There was no face under that cloak, only shadow, but the hands that brushed over his cheeks and cupped his face, the bony finger that wiped away the tears and the voiceless whisper that ghosted over him spoke of an undying love.

"Why won't you let me go?"

Death did not answer. Instead, it pulled him into its crushing embrace.