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The Plague, the Black Plague; Mortals claimed that their Lord sent it upon them because He was angry at His Children,
but I knew better. I most definitely knew better.
The 9/11 Attacks, a terrorist bombing; Mortals claimed the Middle East was going insane. That was
partially true, but it’s not the full story. I know how the one plane missed it target and crashed into a field. The
passengers overwhelmed the hijackers? Yeah, but I helped. I most certainly did.
Name a tragic event: Hurricane Katrina, the Great Depression, I know the truth behind them all. You
name a disaster, I could tell you who died, when, by what, and where without giving it a second thought. But with that
knowledge comes power, restricted power, but power nonetheless. That power, raw and beautiful, is dangerous, and
many, many people you once thought you knew would instantly become your enemy when you got it.
Daughter of Death, that’s what they call me. You might have also heard people refer to me as Miss
Murder, the Black Widow, the Angel of Death, Devil’s Spawn, the list goes on and on. Angry men would choose to call me
names that proper men and women would never speak, but if they do, I could understand. Many souls I collect each day
are furious that their time has come, and often become violent. They usually throw things, try to beat me… one time a
writer stabbed me with his favorite pencil. I’ve been through some crazy stuff, in other words.
“Jill!” roared my father. “Jill! Get over here now!” I took my dark ocean eyes away from the clear glass
window and glanced down the hall. “Now!” I sighed before gliding across the deep rep carpet surrounded by black and
grey stone. Not like there was much to see anyway; everything outside was either pure black or grey.
“What do you want?” I yelled back, walking into the great hall. I gazed angrily at Death, sitting on his
high back Victorian throne. It was black, of course, his favorite color.
“You do not speak to me in that tone of voice, understand wretch?” When he snarled he appeared to be
like a vampire, his shiny white teeth revealing two slightly pointed tips, appearing even brighter against the dark grey
contrast of his skin, and of his raven black hair.
“Wretch? No one talks to the heir of Hell in such a manner!” Ugh… speaking in elegant language was
hard work, but Death wouldn’t have it any other way. “Why do you waste my time?”
“I need you to go out to a run for me. Go through the portal in wing three.” Groaning I ran off, but
before I left, he stopped me. “And don’t be afraid to give them a painful end.”
“Why will they die?”
“Reasons unknown.” My mind raced as my body hurried through the castle. Its design was complicated,
multiple slim arches in a variety of sizes stacked on top of each other, columns everywhere, and they were all the color
black. The only splatter of tint in the entire place was the red carpet, and the few purple tapestries hung high on the
walls. Before long I could see a silver disc at the end of a long corridor. It stood upright from the floor like a mirror,
except it was part of the wall. On a hook near the threshold was a black cloak, a pointed hood resting listless from its
top. Shrugging it on I hurried through the silver gateway.
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