"The best laid plans of mice and men oft go awry / And leave us nothing but grief and pain instead of promised joy."

-To A Mouse by Robert Burns

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I feel like my breath is torn out of my chest.

The Realm of the Reapers.

That dark, forbidden place Mor said was worse than any depressing small town. The place I'm supposedly not allowed to know anything about. Out of all places, he's brought me here?

I know there's no way this or anything relating to this could possibly be on my bucket list. Adrenaline and shock clangs through me, cold and metallic, just like Mor.

My reaper lets go of my hand, leaving it to hang limply at my side. "You've been wanting an inside look into the otherworld for weeks. Here it is."

"Why though?" I'm almost too surprised to add anything else. My eyes, unable to stay on Mor, fly around the wooded grove we're standing in, looking for this 'party' he claims to be taking me to. "I thought this was completely illegal. What suddenly changed that I'm allowed to come?"

"Oh no, you're still not allowed, but..." Mor trails off. His tone is almost smug.

I stare at him. Weeks and weeks of me begging, of him locking up every time I bring up the afterlife, of only getting a few answers here and there... and now I'm in the middle of it all.

If it weren't for the fact that I know it's completely in the realm of possibility, and that my dreams rarely stray from violent flashbacks, I might think it's some weird nightmare. Like something out of the Twilight Zone.

"If I'm not allowed, why am I here?"

That verge-of-tears edge is still in my voice, and I think Mor understands what I'm implying, because he quickly says, "Don't get ahead of yourself, Lila. I just figured I'd give you more of a look into my world, so you know what you're getting yourself into once you pass beyond the realm of the living. No need for further explanation."

At least not now.

I blink. That wasn't my thought - and it wasn't one Mor purposely sent, either. I think I'm beginning to be able to see his normal thoughts, too, just like he can see mine.

I can feel the surprise radiating from Mor as he realizes the same thing just seconds later. As if our minds are fortresses, a gate-like barrier falls down between us. He turns his back to me and begins walking towards the treeline as if nothing just happened, calling to me, "Come, Miss Cabrera, it's not smart to be here by yourself. The party is this way."

My eyes narrow, but I quickly catch up to him. As we walk through the shadows of the ash trees, Mor explains plainly, "I have glamoured you so that you look like a reaper. There are too many reapers in the world - to the point that nobody will think twice if they've never seen you before."

"What if I have to introduce myself?"

"Say you're from Florida. And in the case you run into Amara, who will definitely remember you if you say your real name, say your name's... something gothic."

I think about it for a moment, cocking my head, but Mor interrupts my thought process before I can even come up with an alias past 'Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way'. "You don't need to figure it out right now."

Now, that hint of music is louder, but I don't recognize the genre or melody. As he leads me through the wood, I'm reminded of the masquerade ball in Paris Mor took Kat and I to, all those weeks ago. Somehow, the whole feeling also reminds me of the prom I almost attended. The dance I may have gone to, if it weren't for vodka and broken stop lights and oncoming trucks.

I wonder if any of any of the reapers here were Will's. I wonder if Mor knows who it is. Or even if... Mor was Will's reaper.

Lila, stop, I command myself. He told you he wasn't Will's reaper. He told you he only knows Will from your file. Just like he said, don't get ahead of yourself.

Still, a sour taste forms in my mouth as Mor looks at me again. I swallow my anxiety down and hope he can't tell what I'm thinking.

If he can tell, he doesn't show any sign of it. Now we've reached the tree line, and he says nothing as I set my eyes on the party and feel my heart drop.

We're on top of a building. The forest seems to stop altogether here, as trees give way to grassy lawns and steep drop offs to the left and right, but ashes and cypresses still dot the path we're standing on. It swirls like lace across the roof in front of me, which seems to go on forever, though perhaps that's just an illusion. In the distance, I can see soaring monuments and towers, all mounting to a cathedral-like building on a hill far above the lowlife.

And then there's the reapers; they're scattered, standing underneath white gothic lights and turrets topped by gargoyles, sipping sparkling silver liquid from glassy flutes and talking amongst themselves to the beat of the strange music.

The source of that music is right in the middle - a tall elevated platform, where a demonic band is performing. Just below the platform is a walk-up bar, which somehow confuses me most of all.

"How the..." I spin to face Mor, who looks like he was expecting such a reaction. "I thought we were in the woods. How did we end up on a roof?"

"It's a rooftop park. A big one, sure, compared to your world... but the Realm is different. The same laws don't apply here as they do to the living."

It's hard for me to breathe in deep. The air is either as thick as molasses or as thin as the top of Mount Everest. I can't tell.

"Mor of Vermont, Junior Reaper extraordinaire, is that you?"

It's a voice unknown to me that says that, a voice sweet but raspy, slightly slurred, and almost French. I turn to see a female reaper coming up behind me, holding a glass of that mysterious drink. She has glossy white hair tied up in a bun, along with the trademarks of the reaper species - cavernously high cheekbones, a too-thin frame, and eyes like black holes.

She's wearing a black skater dress and matching knee-high boots. Her outfit looks like it's missing a jacket, but she's not wearing one at the moment.

When she sees Mor, she grins; when she sees me, that grin turns wicked.

I feel a jolt of frustration coming from my reaper, who scowls, then attempts to mask it with an obviously fake polite smile. "Sabine. How... pleasant it is to see you again, thriving."

"You too!" The girl - Sabine - gestures to me. "And who's this? New blood?"

Mor gives her a steely look. "No. This is my peer-"

"Ophelia," I interrupt, hoping my improvisation is believable. Mor snickers a bit at my choice , which actually makes me feel better. "I'm from Florida."

Sabine makes a face, rolling her eyes as a bit of liquid sloshes out of her glass. "Fates, another Southerner? What's up with you and making friends from the South? First it was Amara, now a Floridian?"

Although our connection was cut off by him earlier, I attempt to send Mor a question: What the hell is she talking about?

It takes a moment, but the reaper replies stiltedly, long story. She's being dramatic, like someone else I know.

He side-eyes me, and somehow, it puts me on edge. Here, in this environment, Mor feels less like the reaper I've come to befriend and more like the god-like creature I was terrified of all the way back in August.

Sabine tips back her glass, revealing crushed, glittering dregs at the bottom. I hate to bug Mor with another inquiry, but before I can even ask, he answers, That's Spirit Wine, one of the only things reapers can consume. It's toxic to the living.

What is it made of?

I don't think you want to know.

My skin goes cold, even more so than before, but I don't question it, especially considering Mor's thoughts felt like the mental equivalent of speaking begrudgingly through gritted teeth. Sabine, meanwhile, puts a skeletal finger in her glass and starts pulling out the dregs, spooning them into her mouth like they're bobas at the bottom of tea. As she slurps one from her polished nail, she asks, "So, Mor, darling, how's work going? That girl you've grown so devoted to, how's she doing?"

"I'm not devoted to her," he snarls in reply. "I'm devoted to the job."

It takes a moment for me to realize who they're talking about. I try not to feel disappointed that Mor isn't "devoted" to me, then I start to lower my rose-colored glasses and remember who we're talking about.

Sabine laughs, light and airy. "Oh, of course. I'm sure no charge compares to me, anyway, eh?"

"Sabine!"

All three of us turn as Abuela's best friend - that is, Amara - comes up to us. She looks mostly the same as before, but her outfit is different; this evening, she's wearing an off-the-shoulder dress and sandals, and her ashy black hair is pinned back from her forehead.

Without noticing me, she chastises Sabine, "I told you not to eat the sediment."

"Oh my god, Mare, what's it gonna do? Kill me?"

"You know-" Suddenly, Amara stops mid-sentence as she catches sight of me out of the corner of her eye. As steady as clockwork, she slowly turns her gaze on me, and I feel the hair on the back of my neck stands up. To Mor, she asks, "Who's this?"

I cross my fingers she doesn't see right through our lies as Mor answers coolly, "An acquaintance of mine from Florida. Her name is Ophelia."

"Oh, where in Florida?"

"Miami," I say instinctively, throwing on a subtle accent for good measure.

"¿Oh enserio? Eso es bueno. Yo trabajo en Cuba. Sé que hay muchos cubanos en Miami, ¿verdad?"

She nearly talks too quickly for me to understand, but I catch the gist. Oh, really? That's nice. I work in Cuba. I know there are a lot of Cubans in Miami, right?

"Uh, sí, hay."

Uh, yes, there are.

Continuing in Spanish, she asks, "So, if you're working with Mor, you must know Lila."

I blink, and I think it shows my vulnerability, because Mor takes my hand and tells his friends, "All right, well, I'll let you ladies get back to your party. Don't eat the sediment, Sabine."

With that, he drags me away from the female reapers, further into the party. I resist the urge to look back, though I can practically still feel Amara and Sabine's endless winter eyes boring into the back of my head.

Gulping, I let Mor tug me along, past judgemental reapers and other devilish creatures I've never seen before, with horns and forked tails, wings and slit eyes. My curiosity makes me yearn to look at them straight-on, but I keep my head down, until I run into a cold, bony arm.

Mor and I both stop, as does the person I ran into. Immediately, I snap my head up, only to look into another pair of those lifeless eyes. These ones are set into the face of a man with dark hair, who raises his eyebrows and says, "Pardon me, I-

His expression changes as his eyes pass over me and land on Mor; at this, he frowns. "Mor. I didn't know you made a new friend."

Around my wrist, my reaper's hand goes slack. I look at him and see his expression has turned stony.

"Oleander," Mor says after a moment, his voice completely calm. "This is an acquaintance of mine. Her name is Ophelia."

Oleander. If I'm remembering the "Shrubs and Trees" unit of 10th grade Biology class correctly, I'm pretty sure oleander is the name of a highly toxic shrub. That makes me wonder about the meanings behind the other reapers' names, too.

Mor... his name, as I've known in the back of my mind since the beginning, is much less subtle. It's the Latin prefix for death.

Strangely, the thought makes me shiver.

Oleander assesses me again. I can't tell what emotion he holds. His eyes are somehow more pitch black than the few others I've seen before.

Without saying a single word to me, Oleander goes back to Mor, and now there's a change in his tone: "Is there a reason you decided to bring her, or was it just for the Hell of it?"

"She's a peer, Oleander."

"Right. But is there a reason, or are you just being rebellious?"

Mor narrows his eyes. "Is there something you'd like to ask me more explicitly?"

The shining, shadowy world around me seems to disappear as Oleander steps closer to Mor and, with both ultra-deadly seriousness and a slight tinge of fear, asks "Do you know?"

This is where Mor joins me in not understanding what the hell his friend - or whatever he is - is talking about. My reapers furrows his brow in genuine confusion. Incredulously, he responds, "Know what?"

With this, the other reaper sighs and backs away, letting me finally collect my thoughts. I can make no sense of the conversation that just happened. Although somewhere in the back of my mind, it strikes me that maybe Oleander knows who I really am, I can't expand on the thought.

My head is beginning to become heavier. There's a strange aura around Oleander. He reminds me of where I am and what I'm doing, like all I've learned about Mor's world is gone in an instant and I'm once again just a scared depressed girl talking to Death himself.

I don't like it here, I decide to myself, almost childishly. Now I understand why Mor savors his time in the sunshine.

"So you're just..." Oleander sighs again. "This is what Amara warned me about. You do realize what this could lead to, right?"

Mor stares at him, before turning to me and saying, "We have to go."

He takes my hand again, and without so much as a snarky farewell to the other reaper, pulls me away. I think he's taking me somewhere specific, but he's moving faster than before.

I know he's hiding something from me, even as he exposes his entire world. But I can't bring myself to say anything.

"Where are we going?"

"Somewhere we can talk privately. My apartment."

It sounds like something a frat boy would say to get a girl to leave a party with him, but in Mor's rasp, it's more of an invitation for questions.

Why can't we talk like this?

He never replies.

Now, we've reached a structure at the far end of the roof - an elevator. It's like something out of the Great Gatsby, all sleek lines and dark colors with silver trim. The doors slide open as we come to a stop in front of it, and so we enter.

Once we're inside, the doors close again. I notice there's 21 floor buttons next to the door, every one of them dim until Mor presses a seemingly random one, which then proceeds to glow like a fluorescent light. Underneath me, I can feel the elevator moving down much quicker than most, and it's not long before the doors slide open to reveal a small waiting area.

It's not decorated at all, though the glass walls on either side give such an expansive view that anything else to look at isn't needed. Just beyond the room is a long hallway lined with doors.

"Is that where you... uh, reside?" I ask.

Mor nods. "3rd door on the right. Sabine's right next door."

Not wanting to go down there just yet, I find myself wandering past the hallway to the windows.

Here, I feel as though I'm living in a piece of concept art. It's hard to make out the looming buildings across the street and in the distance. Through wisps of fog, I see they look like apartments from some cyberpunk video game, but instead of purple light, it's a bronze-gold that's spilling out of every window, making the air shimmer like glitter dust. There's hardly anyone on the streets, where crimson lamps shine on the pavement like blood stains. Above all of it is the cathedral I noticed on the roof, although I realize now it's more of a fortress than anything else.

Too unnerved to ask anything else, I inquire, "What is that building on the hill?"

Mor hesitates before stepping up beside me and answering, "Its true name is unspeakable in any living language, but we call it The Citadel. It's where the Council works - and the Fates reside."

"Woah."

"They decide everything," he continues, although there's a hollowness in his voice that makes me think he's not truly talking to me anymore. "Who succeeds, who fails. Who lives, who dies. Who I'm forced to kill."

"Oh."

It's such an empty response. My skin is freezing, and my head still hurts, and suddenly these answers mean nothing to me anymore. Why did Mor bring me here in the first place? I don't get it.

I glance at my reaper, hoping to God he doesn't look back. Luckily, he doesn't. Instead, he's looking up at The Citadel, undefinable emotion in his eyes. And then, to my surprise, something rolls out of his left eye and drops to the floor. A tear, black as ink.

Oh my god. I think to myself. He's losing it. He's breaking down. Maybe he drank too much of that Spirit Wine and came to get me drunkenly. Maybe I should give him space.

I start backing away, softly at first, before realizing he won't notice either way. Deciding to wait for him at his room, I head towards the 3rd door on the right. Standing there and watching his shadowy tears probably wouldn't turn out well.

Even if I travel the world a million times, there's no experience as rare as witnessing a Grim Reaper cry.

How did I go from trusting Mor, from seeing him as my friend and a beacon towards Heaven, to this? Wanting to run from him? Finding he sets off the biggest alarms in me, telling me, Lila, this isn't right?

I don't know.

It takes me only a moment to reach the right door. I lean against it, my body still aching from how hard it is to breathe, until it swings open under my weight. It seems as though Mor didn't close it all the way last time he left, because now I can see his room.

It's a mess.

Like the rest of the building, the walls are black, the floor clean-cut marble. Directly across from the door, a window lets in the artificial light of the city, but other than that, it's dark. Still, I can make out a small bed to my right, its linen covers strewn every which way, and a large steel desk to my left. On the desk sits a sleeping flat-screen computer monitor, a keyboard, and an assortment of notes and assignments, including so many crumpled up papers that they've started to spill onto the floor.

I wander further into the apartment, my eyes flickering from the multitude of black ballpoint pens sitting next to the keyboard to the contents of the paperwork. Some are what I would've expected: notices from the Reaper Association, assignments and files, contracts to no end. But there are a few others I'm almost surprised by. Maps of far-off places like Finland and Australia and Paris - places that aren't so far-off to me anymore. And then - an ebony folder stuffed with papers, shining in the glow of the window.

On the top, there's a silver stamp of a skull next to the words "Reaper Association of America" and on the bottom, "Mor of Vermont - Charge #6".

Was I only his 6th charge? Or was this for someone else?

"Having fun exploring?"

I whirl, and my heart drops, even though there's only one person it could be.

Mor's leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised slightly. Both his usual mirth and his earlier coolness are gone. Now, he just seems tired.

"I-" for the first time in what feels like forever, I'm at a nervous loss of words. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to invade your privacy or anything."

I don't know what I expect the reaper to say in response. All he does is drop his arms and stand up straight, grunting in contempt. "It's fine. I doubt you've found anything interesting just staring at my paperwork anyway."

Glancing back at the desk, I frown. "I didn't realize this whole process was so... governmental."

"It is." He says with a sigh. "The Fates predict who will die, give this information to the association of the victim's home country, and then the association assigns a reaper from that person's region. The Council oversees it all."

"I get that, but how do they choose what reapers are in each region? How did you end up with Vermont?"

"Lila... These are the things I'm not allowed to tell you. You should know that by now."

"You said at Disney that some of those types of rules are pointless," I take a step towards him, shaking my head. "I'm about to die, Mor. I have what, 2, 3 things left to do? Can you just give me a break?"

Mor looks beyond me, out the window, then slowly comes forward. A flick of his wrist, and the door closes automatically behind him. Behind me, the curtains fly shut, and a single ceiling lamp turns on, washing the room in dim silvery light.

The shadows break around Mor as he steps into the light, and for a moment, I think he's going to kill me right then and there. But instead of planting his feet and steadying his scythe, he just slumps.

"Reapers are assigned to a region based on where they're from," he murmurs. Once, when he told me these sorts of secrets, he was frustrated and menacing. It's like he's finally given up. "And where they're from is not chosen by the Reapers Association or the Council or any such thing. It's based on where they lived. All reapers were human, once."

My skin goes cold.

"Sabine, for example, reaps souls in Vermont, as I do, because she lived her life in said area. And I know this because she was my fourth charge. I'm assigned to Vermont because I resided in Vermont when I was living." He runs a hand through his snowy hair, but it's no use, because strands continue to fall on his face anyway. "We're not supposed to tell you because the gods hate it when more reapers are introduced. But if you refuse to die and move on, even after being assigned a reaper, you can become one yourself. The gods think it's some sort of punishment, a way to introduce some humanity into us so we'll agree to go to Heaven. Yet, more and more people become reapers every year because they're afraid of letting go completely. I didn't want you to be one of them."

He's dead already.

Somehow, I think he may have mentioned that before, and I didn't bother to remember. Now, I feel like a fool, weak all over and shaking with the epiphany. My stomach hurts and my palms are sweaty, because this news opens up a whole new rabbit hole. "You're saying that everybody I've ever known who died...," I breathe, giving him the death stare, "They could be here? Papa and Abuela could've been at that party upstairs? Will could've?!"

"Lila," Mor says quickly, "Even if any of them did decide to become reapers, they wouldn't remember you. All reapers get their memories wiped completely when they undergo the death process. All they remember is where they're from and the reaper who took them."

"Will would remember me," I shoot back. "Will would remember me. I know it. If I can just go find him-"

I start to go towards the door, but Mor sticks out his arm to stop me. "Lila, please," he groans, having to wrap his arms around my waist and pull me back into the room. "He won't remember you. There's no use. Even if he did, it's not like you can be together, even if you were to become a reaper. We don't have romances here. All we do is... kill."

It's like he's finally realizing the magnitude of his job. He lets me go, and stumbles backwards, but I no longer want to go downstairs. Now, I feel unmistakable anger rising inside me, thrumming through my bones in an unfamiliar rhythm. I point at him, and seethe, "He is a reaper, isn't he? And you don't want me to find him because he knows who you are. Because... because you killed him. You killed Will."

"I-"

"When you first saw me, you said, 'How pleasant it is to see you again', and I automatically thought that maybe you had a hand in the crash. I don't know why I dismissed it so quickly. I don't know why I trusted you!" My neck gets hot, and I drop my hand to clench it into a fist. "This whole time, I had this feeling about you that I couldn't recognize. I realize now. It's familiarity. I know you, and I know you were at the crash. You killed Will. You killed Will."

"Lila, you're getting hysterical, calm down," Mor pleads. Frustration and sadness and regret dares to flash in his eyes. "I'm taking you home. I never should've brought you here."

He's not denying my accusations. Before I know it, tears are streaming down my face like the New Haven River. I can't see anything through the blur, and I can taste blood on my lips, and Mor wraps his cold hand around my wrist and draws me toward him -

And before I know it, I'm in my bedroom, back where this whole mess started. The windows are flung open and outside, it's storming. My curtains whip around like dust in the wind, and thunder rumbles above the cornfield, a backbeat to the crackling cascade of the rain. Wisely, Mor is gone, but I don't know if I'm able to care enough. I can't even decipher my emotions.

I feel betrayed, whether Mor was allowed to tell me or not, because somehow I know he was there at the crash, and he had the audacity to take me all over the world and help me put my life back together and be my friend like nothing was wrong. I know I can't be mad at Mor, when this is his job, and he's really helping these people cross over peacefully, and it's the Fates who choose who lives and dies. But I still am mad anyway, because I never could control my emotions.

More than anything, I feel hopeless, because I know Mor's right. Will won't remember me. We loved each other as much as we humanly could, but that couldn't possibly get in the way of godly magic. Even if I found Will at the party and recognized him and begged him to come back to Ashdown with me, he'd probably only stare at me blankly. Which means that I am going to die, and he won't even be there waiting for me. I really am alone.

I fall onto my bed and curl up into a ball until my eyes are squeezed shut so tightly that I can't see a pinprick of light. Somehow, even after all these months of crying, I still have tears to give, and they force themselves out and drip down my cheeks slowly until I fall into a restless, hurricane sleep.

My best friend died 5 months ago. I think I did too.

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A/N: Woah, how do you guys feel about the plot twist in this chapter?! Lila still has lots to learn before the end, but this was perhaps one of the most heartbreaking secrets of all.

It's strange for me to write magical realism like this, especially without explaining every little detail. Hopefully it made sense. If it didn't, oh well, it is the Realm of the Reapers, so it's not really supposed to make sense to our living eyes!

I know I've been bad at updating lately - it took me over a month just to publish this - but I'm on summer break now, so I have much more time to write and edit! I may even start publishing twice a week, who knows!

Only a few chapters left until the end! Stay tuned (:

xoxo, Athena

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