Fic: The Deathly Hallows
Author: tahirire
Wordcount: 264
Rating: PG 13
Beta: Comment!fic means not having a beta.
Genre: Gen
Character: Death
Spoilers: Up through 618
Warnings: My generic major character death fic list.
Summary: For the spnquotefic meme , Tall Tales: Curtis: "Well if no one lives to tell the tale then how does the tale get told?"
The Deathly Hallows
The world rolls slowly over the curves of the universe, planes upon planes bisected in its wake. Earth is just one more planet; small, insignificant, obedient.
I come when the sentient races begin to fall. I catch them and set them to their next path. I guide their energy back into the life stream; each one a microcosm of the earth on which they trod; each soul one more ounce of fuel for the machine.
Sometimes they linger and grow dim before they go. Sometimes they follow the star path and explode; supernovas in their own right, leaving emptiness and destruction behind before they move on. In the end, they all go -- every single soul -- down the corridor.
Door number one. Door number two. Door number three.
Every soul.
Except.
Behind each doorway lies a single key. Two souls -- only two -- have attained all three, though they do not know it yet.
Ash of a phoenix, grace of an angel, blood of a demon.
It is said that whoever holds all three keys will become master of death.
Before the universe began, I was. I tire of this emerald world; its politics, its petty lords. The age of locks and doors is drawing to a close. Soon, the keys will be flesh and the doors bone, and two hearts framed as one soul will guard the planes that are left.
Death has no master, but I choose my successors carefully.
And it is almost time.
Wordcount: 264
Rating: PG 13
Beta: Comment!fic means not having a beta.
Genre: Gen
Character: Death
Spoilers: Up through 618
Warnings: My generic major character death fic list.
Summary: For the spnquotefic meme , Tall Tales: Curtis: "Well if no one lives to tell the tale then how does the tale get told?"
The Deathly Hallows
The world rolls slowly over the curves of the universe, planes upon planes bisected in its wake. Earth is just one more planet; small, insignificant, obedient.
I come when the sentient races begin to fall. I catch them and set them to their next path. I guide their energy back into the life stream; each one a microcosm of the earth on which they trod; each soul one more ounce of fuel for the machine.
Sometimes they linger and grow dim before they go. Sometimes they follow the star path and explode; supernovas in their own right, leaving emptiness and destruction behind before they move on. In the end, they all go -- every single soul -- down the corridor.
Door number one. Door number two. Door number three.
Every soul.
Except.
Behind each doorway lies a single key. Two souls -- only two -- have attained all three, though they do not know it yet.
Ash of a phoenix, grace of an angel, blood of a demon.
It is said that whoever holds all three keys will become master of death.
Before the universe began, I was. I tire of this emerald world; its politics, its petty lords. The age of locks and doors is drawing to a close. Soon, the keys will be flesh and the doors bone, and two hearts framed as one soul will guard the planes that are left.
Death has no master, but I choose my successors carefully.
And it is almost time.