Control

A/N: Yes, it's here… the final chapter! So, uh… I like this ending. I know previously that I said it was going to go a completely different way, but I'm sorry. I like this way better. Yeah. Let's get on with it. Oh, by the way, it's a teensy weensy bit creepy. But I like it. Quick shout-out to Reyson- YES, I AM A DEATH-FIC AUTHOR!!! SORRY!!!

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my own thoughts.

Chapter Eight

She floated closer, her feet not touching the ground. Her blonde hair partially covered her face, giving a sort of curtain for her to hide behind until she was ready to reveal herself. Only a select few got to see the true face of Death.

Pale arms hung limply at her sides, barely distinguishable in the billows of pure white cloth. The only thing dark about her were her eyes- a deep brown, that of the earth the bodies whose souls she came to collect would soon be buried in.

She knelt, or appeared to be kneeling. Bony white arms placed themselves gently on the dying one's shoulder and arm. He turned his head; his eyes were nearly glazed over already. He had practically handed himself to her.

She knew him immediately. She had dealt with this one before, be he had previously made her angry, unwilling to fall to her will. Unwilling to die. But all the fight had gone out of him. He had given up. He had given himself to her.

"You," he gurgled, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. He smiled, and she smiled gently back, but he had already gone; he was already hers.

Gently, she took him up in her arms, and was almost surprised by how light he felt. Almost. Death is never surprised, but previously she had had to drag him away to her abode, he had had so much will to live. Now he was as light as a feather, an innocent soul in need of a well-deserved rest.

She didn't have to carry him far; he had been making his way to her, she knew. Soon he was within the safety of her walls.

Gently she moved him to a comfortable bed, laying him down with the care of a mother putting a young child to sleep.

"Good night, my love," she said, her voice raspy but kind, gently giving him a soft kiss on his pale forehead. Lovingly, she wrapped the coverlet around his stone cold body.

When she was sure he was comfortable, she sat with him for a few minutes, gently stroking his hair, his face, giving his hand the occasional squeeze, until she knew she had sat far too long, that she needed to go.

"I must leave you now, my dear, for I have others to attend to. But do not worry. You are safe. You are with me. You are safe." Again she kissed him.

Cold is the kiss of Death, but it is not without the warmth of love.

The End

A/N: Comments? Questions? Concerns? I now accept anonymous reviews! Please tell me truly what you thought of this story, as I am trying to 'hone my craft', so to speak, and I really want constructive criticism. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and gave me encouragement, it really does help. Thanks for just reading!