Once again, I walked aimlessly through the confusing hallways of the mansion, cold, shivering as water dripped from my clothes with every step I took. I felt very small. Like an insect.

It was only then that I stumbled upon yet another door with a Roman numeral twelve carved intricately on the upper half. It didn’t interest me. I was done trying to figure out things that would just eventually validate that I shouldn’t exist at all.

“But the Purge wouldn’t be until the end of the year!” It was Vladimir’s voice. “By that time our brothers, or worst, Father would have known of the girl’s existence.”

Vincent replied calmly. “It’s possible, but if we succeed on keeping her hidden just for thirty more days, Vlad. With the countless traffic of souls during the Purge, the Overseers will slack off a little. There’s a great chance that they wouldn’t even notice her soul crossing over.”

“You seem decided,” Vladimir answered with a withdrawn tone. “Just curious. Why keep her alive if you’ve been planning on having her crossover all along?”

It took some time before Vincent gave a reply. “Because… because I couldn’t bear letting her suffer the same fate as Adrianna.” His voice almost faltered at the mention of the name.

“Vincent, Aramis seems to me like a very different person from Adrianna. Totally opposite, in fact, as I see it. In my opinion, she’d make a great familiar for you,” Vladimir said.

“No.” There was some conviction in his voice that made me admire and loathe him at the same time. “I don’t deserve a familiar. At first I thought I could try with her. It’s too late when I realized I was risking her soul to Oblivion. Aramis should crossover, have a great time in Nirvana, get her soul fished out for Rebirth. Maybe not soon, but someday, she’ll be reborn again and live a long normal human life,” he said weakly, a hint of nostalgia in his baritone voice.

Vladimir’s faint childish chuckle came from the other side of the door. “Very well said, brother. I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Vincent grunted exasperatedly. “What is it that we are talking about again?”

“I’m talking about concern, baby brother, concern,” Vladimir replied lightheartedly. It was weird, actually, hearing him call Vincent baby brother. Vincent just replied with a derisive hump. “But doesn’t she get to choose her fate?” Vladimir continued.

“Not if I could help it. Please understand. I just want the best for Ara—I mean, for all of us.”

With a deep sigh, Vladimir finally said, “So when do we tell Aramis?”

“What?”

“That by the end of December, we have to kill her. Again.”

I found myself running away bare footedly. With all intent of getting as far away from Vincent, from Vladimir as fast as I could. I had no idea where I was heading to but anywhere was better than here. My feet started to give up on me, but I kept staggering forward. My mind raced in pointless circles. I thought of escaping and going home. Only, there were a few problems. I wouldn’t be able to get out of the mansion without a horde of wraiths on my tail and secondly, if and when I make it home, I wasn’t sure that Dad wouldn’t try to kill me again.

Hopelessly, slumped down in a corner and stared blankly at the floor.

“There you are,” said a baritone voice. Startled, I about scrambled away when the owner of the voice became visible to me. It was Amyr, a worried look on his face. “Where have you been?”

I kept staring at the floor. Did he come to bring me back to Vincent? “What do you want?”

He looked up at the ceiling as though he was trying to find the answer there. “I was a little worried that someone might get lost. Because that someone’s too thickheaded to ask for directions.”

Touché.

“Instead of directions, can I ask you something?” I murmured, still looking at the ground.

“You already did.” He sat on the floor next to me with his head leaning on the cold hard stone wall.

“Is there a heaven or hell or is it just… afterlife?”

Amyr shifted uneasily. “I don’t know about heaven or hell because technically, I’ve never been there. But I do know about Nirvana. It’s like… this endless Spirit World where all souls go, regardless of whether they were good or bad. In there, souls find their innermost dreams… or nightmares. You see what you want to see. Or so I’ve been told. ”

“Like a paradise,” I mumbled, nodding. If I was to die for the second time and this time for sure, I might as well know what kind of place I was supposed to go.

He nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe. If that’s how you wanted it to be.”

Paradise. I didn’t know if I should be jumping for joy or swimming in my own imaginary tears. Spending eternity in paradise couldn’t be that bad.

“A soul will linger there until they get picked out for Rebirth,” he continued. “You see, Aramis, being a Reaper ain’t that great. Instead of all-powerful immortals, I see us like… like the official garbage collectors of the world; only, we collect expired souls instead of trash. We don’t get to decide when to take them because some higher-up had already made the schedule.” He turned away as soon as I saw the bitter smile that made its way to his lips.

“Let me make a guess,” I butted in. “We don’t get to wear cool hooded cloaks and we don’t get paid either.”

“Yes and yes.” Curbing a smile, he nodded, looking at me like I was some form of amusement. “All we have in consolation is this long… endless life. Which pretty much sucks since we can't ever die.”

Knotting my brows, I turned to face him. “I thought we could die. Or be killed at least.”

“We could. But we don’t want that because unlike you, us fully resurrected familiars have no souls of our own.”

“And?”

A deep sigh came from him. “If I got no soul and I die, what do you think would happen to me?”

I thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know… Disappear?”

“Exactly. I’d plummet straight into Oblivion.”

Oblivion. Vincent mentioned that while he was talking to Vladimir. It was too late when I realized that I was risking her soul to Oblivion, he said.

When he sensed my confusion, Amyr creased his forehead. “How should I put it? Uh, look at it this way. Oblivion is like this big dark place where you can’t feel anything. You can’t say anything. Or hear, or see, or touch anything. All you do is think, mull over about your past life and rot in your thoughts for all eternity until you drive yourself mad. You won’t cease to exist either. You’re just… stuck.”

“Well that sucks,” I muttered. “Can we just… I don’t know… Not die?”

“Well, that’s why we train. To not die,” he chuckled quietly. “But I wouldn’t worry about you, since you still have a soul.”

Yeah. And that soul would go bye-bye soon enough, since Vincent, Almighty had already plunked a sticky note that said ‘To be dumped to Nirvana’ on the middle of my forehead. I cleared my throat and lifted my gaze to the ceiling, trying to remember what I overheard between the Sinclair brothers.

“Can you tell me about the p-purge?” I asked, unsure if I said the word right.

He nodded, murmuring “Ah, the Purge,” with his forehead creasing. “Well, personally, I hate that season. Instead of having Happy Holidays and stuff like all the rest of the world, we’ll be on overtime, without pay of course.”

Restlessly, I glared at my trembling hands. “And it happens at the end of the year?” Wincing, I tried to count the number of days before I would be killed yet again. When I reached the mental count of seven, I gave up, barely managing to keep a calm façade.

“Yes, in New Year’s Eve. Mei told you?” Amyr cracked his knuckles as I forced a nod.

I didn’t want him to know that I had been eavesdropping on other people’s conversations all day. More so, I didn’t feel like torturing myself by retelling everything I overheard.

“Not all souls crossover immediately after death,” he continued. “Weak souls can’t make their own door to Nirvana like stronger souls can. And those Strays will linger in the world of the living unless they had the help of a Reaper—us—or if they find their way to a Spirit Gate, such as the one in front of this house.”

“What gate? Oh, you mean the one that’s invisible?” I smirked bitterly. “Never seen it.”

As if he found my sarcasm entertaining, Amyr snorted quietly. “Yes, you did. You almost fell in it.” A crooked grin pulled up a corner of his lips.

“The hole?”

“What else?" he smirked. “Anyway, every end of the year, we open all the Spirit Gates everywhere in the world to suck in Strays and wraiths. Think of it as spring cleaning. And that, Aramis, is what we call the Purge. You see, Reapers collect expired souls so the higher-ups could reuse them. Nirvana’s basically this fishbowl that whenever a new life is scheduled to be conceived, those in charge,” he quoted with his fingers, “would fish a soul and have it reborn into a new human.”

I’ve heard of The Birds and The Bees version. I’ve also heard about the Stork Express; delivering babies straight to your doorstep since who knows when. But Amyr’s version could totally get some credit for originality. Slowly, the logic behind Vincent’s plan made some sense to me. Well, not just perfectly. He wanted me to die with a soul so I wouldn’t have to die later soulless, thus perishing into Oblivion. Obviously, he had some serious faith in my dying skills.

“Like recycling…” I said blankly.

“Exactly. I wished humans would appreciate life more considering how freaking lucky bastards they are. As for us, we don’t have that kind of privilege since we live off on our masters’ souls of awesomeness.” He let out a laugh and I found myself laughing too. He seemed to have that effect on people—like somehow, he made me forget my worries.

“Like parasites,” I mentioned.

“Like parasites,” he agreed still laughing like a maniac. “Like, intestinal…” he blurted wriggling his index finger.

“Gross!”

“Wimp.”

I listened as his laughter faded into silence. “Amyr?”

“What?”

“Do you think I can be… uhm, a familiar? One that wouldn’t die for a long time?” I asked hesitantly.

“If I said no, would you kill me?” he said holding back a smirk.

“I don’t know…” I started, frowning infinitesimally. “Maybe…Yes. While you’re sleeping.”

“Then you’d live forever.” He sniggered. “But seriously, you made me lose a bet with Archie. Don’t you know how much I lost? Like twenty buck! Twenty bucks!”

“Yeah? And you’re betting on what?” I narrowed my eyes.

He cleared his throat. “On whether you’d fall into the hole or not.”

“Oh, that,” I mumbled thinking that if he lost, then he must have thought that I wasn’t going to make it. Ugh. “Thank you very much for your support. Glad you lost your twenty bucks. No offense.”

“None taken. But,” he started. “You made me change my whole point of view about you. Next time, I’m betting in your favor.”

“Thanks? I guess.”

“Welcome. Uh… Can I ask you something? And I want you to be honest.” He had that matter of life and death look on his face.

To hide my agitation, I lowered my voice, trying to imitate his air of nonchalant self-assurance, muttering, “You already did."

Amyr cautiously met my eyes and cleared his throat before placing a hand on my shoulder. “Did you just go swimming in that robe?”