TW: Miscarriage

This chapter is dedicated to my unborn baby that I lost in July.

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It's a beautiful summer day with the sun shining, birds chirping, and kids laughing and having fun outdoors. The world is oblivious to the pain currently swallowing the house.

Death is standing across the road, gazing towards the small mobile home, adorned in her customary black robe and holding her scythe in her right hand. She retrieves her pocket watch, a ritual she always observes, to check the time. A sigh escapes her lips as she glances at Fate, standing by her side.

"Must I do this," Death asks, even though she is already aware of the answer.

The cold blue eyes of Fate snap up towards her as he stops writing in his book, his brows creasing as he frowns at her while asserting, "You know you must - you are Death, do your job."

Death observes Fate with a sigh, recognizing him as the deity of Fate who operates devoid of human emotions or comprehension, focusing solely on rules which he adheres to with precision.

In the divine realm, there exists a strict adherence to rules and regulations that govern the very fabric of existence. Fate, one of the enforcer of these laws, whose authority is unrivaled, has always maintained an unwavering commitment to upholding order and balance in the universe. However, there was one rare occasion when even he succumbed to bending the rules - the permission for miracles to occur sporadically.

The driving force behind this unprecedented decision was none other than Death herself. Relentless in her pursuit to challenge the immutable nature of existence, Death incessantly badgered him until he relented and allowed for miracles to manifest on rare occasions.

However, this was not one of those occasions.

Death pauses to gaze back at the house. With a deep inhalation, almost as if seeking solace, she slowly makes her way towards the entrance. Each step seems to weigh heavy on her, a visible reluctance in her movement as she approaches the door. The traditional dark shroud enveloping her begins to transition, fading into a serene white hue.

Death's journey towards the door unfolds like a somber yet poetic dance, each step resonating with the gravity of her role in the grand tapestry of life.

As Death made the solemn journey, she passed by a child's red bike, a vivid symbol of innocence and youth. The bright red color of the bike stood out against the backdrop of the somber surroundings, perhaps serving as a stark contrast to the finality of Death's presence.

As Death moves through the house, the air feels heavy with a sense of stillness and solemnity. The living room is adorned with a few toys lying on the floor. Each step she takes is a silent echo of finality.

Reaching the master bedroom, Death's presence seems to intensify. The room is a sanctuary of memories, filled with photographs and mementos that tell a story.

Death pauses at the entrance to the bathroom, where the sound of muffled sobs can be heard emanating from the other side. Upon entering, a heart-wrenching scene unfolds before her eyes. Various items lay strewn on the floor, mirroring the chaos of the young woman's emotions. The heavy scent of tears and despair lingered in the air. The room, once a place of solitude and cleansing, now reflected the young woman's inner turmoil. Shattered items lay scattered on the floor, mirroring the chaos within her heart. The mirror offered a glimpse of her tear-streaked face and puffy eyes, a portrait of raw emotion.

Death and The Goddess of Life stand in somber silence, their gazes lingering on the young woman before them. The air is heavy with her grief, palpable as she clings to her stomach, racked by sobs. The Goddess' features are etched with sorrow, tears staining her cheeks as she watches the scene unfold. Death, too, feels a pang of empathy, a desire to offer solace in the face of such raw emotion.

Though their instincts urge them to intervene, to bring comfort to the grieving woman, they know that it is beyond their power.

Life's voice breaks as she speaks. "She was only ten weeks along in her pregnancy," The Goddess of Life's voice trembles as she continues. "She had been unaware of her pregnancy until she suddenly found herself going through a devastating miscarriage."

It was a heart-wrenching scene that Death had witnessed countless times before, yet the pain of the bereaved never failed to evoke a deep sense of empathy within Death's ancient being. The young woman's grief echoed through the stillness of the room, filling the space with a raw intensity that was impossible to ignore. Despite the centuries of experience, Death found herself grappling with a familiar sense of helplessness in the face of such profound sorrow.

The young mother's gaze is fixed on the ceiling, her tear-filled eyes betraying her silent plea for understanding. The weight of grief hangs heavy in the air as she searches for solace in the emptiness above. Each breath she takes feels like a struggle, each heartbeat a painful reminder of the life that was meant to be. The room is filled with a suffocating silence, broken only by the sound of her soft sobs.

In her mind, she replays every moment leading up to the heartbreaking loss, questioning every decision, every action, every hope she had dared to nurture. Her heart aches with a longing for answers that may never come, her soul torn between despair and a desperate need for closure. The raw vulnerability of her expression speaks volumes, a silent testament to the depths of her pain.

"Why?" She finally let's the word slip out, her voice hoarse. "Why!" The young mother's sorrow transforms into a fiery, unbridled rage as she directs her quivering voice towards the ceiling above.

"I've carried and given birth twice before, why did my body fail me this time? I've done it before why couldn't I do it again?" Her eyes are filled with a mix of fear and sorrow, a heart-wrenching reflection of her inner turmoil. Every fiber of her being longs for a different outcome, for a reversal of the heartbreaking news she has just received. She whispers prayers to the universe, bargaining with unseen forces in a desperate attempt to rewrite the cruel hand fate has dealt her. The weight of her grief is crushing, threatening to engulf her in a tidal wave of sorrow. As she clings to her stomach, a silent plea echoes through the room, a heartbreaking lament for the life that will never be. Her silent plea echoes in the silence, a reminder of the depths of a mother's love and the agony of a mother's loss.

Feeling overwhelmed by this unfamiliar grief, she struggled to navigate the emotions and process the loss.

How do you mourn someone you didn't even know existed hours before? How do you mourn someone whose name you do not know, face you've never seen and voice you have never heard? How do you mourn someone you have never met but already love with every piece of your heart.

How do you mourn someone who left nothing behind. With nothing to cling to - no memories, no pictures, no tangible reminders - she felt suffocated by these thoughts racing through her mind.

Guilt settled in as she wondered if there was something she could have done differently. "I thought it was just a period. I did not know." She cries out as the weight of what-ifs and alternate possibilities looms heavy on her mind as she reflects on the past with a deep sense of remorse. Her inner turmoil manifests in a heartbreaking desire to turn back the hands of time and rewrite the script of fate.

As Death's eyes trail to the fetus now manifesting as a newborn baby's spirit peacefully sleeping on his mother's back, she approaches him with a sense of calmness and serenity. With a gentle touch, she runs her hand along his tender back, acknowledging the innocence and purity of the soul before her. The baby stirs slightly, sensing her presence, but remains undisturbed in his slumber.

With utmost care and tenderness, Death lifts the baby from his peaceful rest, cradling him lovingly in her arms. She holds him close, cherishing the purity and beauty of his spirit, as she embraces him with a sense of solemn serenity. The baby seems to find comfort in her ethereal embrace, as if instinctively recognizing her as a gentle guardian in the realm beyond.

Death turns her gaze towards the bereaved mother. In that moment of profound sorrow, a quiet whisper escapes Death's lips, unheard by mortal ears. "I promise he is in good hands, and when your time comes and I return for you, I will bring him with me so you can be reunited once again." The promise is tender and solemn, a reassurance that the departed loved one is safe and watched over in the afterlife. It is a moment of compassion amidst the pain of loss, offering a flicker of hope that one day, their souls will be reunited in a realm beyond mortal understanding.

As Life leaves, Death gently lingers for a little longer while cradling the baby's spirit, perhaps wishing to offer the mother and son more precious moments together before bidding farewell. Despite the mother being unaware of their presence, it brings Death a sense of solace.

Death turns towards the door as heavy footsteps reverberate through the house. The woman's husband, drenched in a mix of fear and confusion, rushes through Death and wraps his arms around his wife in a desperate attempt to provide solace. As he holds her tightly, his own tears mirror hers, forming a silent expression of shared grief. The weight of their loss hangs heavily in the air, the agony palpable as they cling to each other for support.

The husband's heart wrenching sobs fill the room, as he holds onto his wife in a desperate attempt to provide some comfort in their shared grief.

As Death exits the house, a solemn air surrounds her, her head bowed in sorrow. Despite the countless times she has performed this somber duty, the weight of each departure never ceases to pierce her heart. With a heavy burden on her shoulders, she carries the fragile soul of yet another baby in her arms, a silent witness to the fragility of life. The echoes of grief and loss reverberate in the empty space she leaves behind, a reminder of the inevitable cycle of existence.

As she moves forward on her eternal journey, Death knows that more farewells await her, each one a poignant reminder of the transient nature of life. Each parting leaves a mark on her soul, a bittersweet blend of compassion and inevitability. And yet, amidst the melancholy, she carries out her duty with a sense of reverence and respect, honoring the profound significance of each passing.

In this eerie and profound moment, Fate, the weaver of all events, faces Death, the harbinger of endings. Their silent exchange speaks volumes as Fate acknowledges the collection of the soul.

With a solemn nod, Fate makes a mark in the mystic book that contains the chronicles of every life, every moment, every breath taken and fate decided. As the ink dries, Fate's presence dissipates into the ether, leaving behind a sense of finality and closure.

Death elegantly spreads her wings while softly humming a lullaby as she carries the unborn baby, anticipating the joyful day when she can reunite him with his mother.

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" You are my sunshine
My only sunshine
You make me happy
When skies are gray
You'll never know, dear
How much I love you
Please don't take
My sunshine away

The other night, dear
As I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you
In my arms
When I awoke, dear
I was mistaken
So I hung my head and cried"

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