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Graves cannot contain my spirit;
death is not the end of time,
though my body turns to ashes,
I will rest in peace subline.
— Greta Zwaan

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Ankh - Life; Duat - Death

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The fires burned bright in their eyes. She was the creator, and he, the destructor. Together they made what we know as nature. Neither controlled by the other, they are a continuous cycle starting from infinity and ending at infinity.

With a sigh of grief, she passed on the soul to his hand. Like a mother, she had nurtured the little soul, gave life in his eyes and had waited patiently for him to walk on mortal's land. It turns out, he ran out of time before he had time to experience time.

He smiled knowingly. She had attached herself with yet another being, although it was against the law. But, it was they who had the laws in their hands anyway.

"This is not fair," she complained, passing a wilted flower to him which he gladly accepted. "You get more powers and control than I do. Shouldn't we be equal?"

"What are you talking about, beloved?" he said, twisting the dead flower in his hands, turning the finite into infinite, the tangible into intangible. "Destruction is easy. It's the creation that needs more power."

She sighed again, passing on few dead leaves. He understood what she felt, but to explain it to her, he did not accept the dead leaves. When she looked up at him, he was already humming a tune to a song:

The flowers look like they have been drunk on love lately.
When they are losing their nectar to the Queen of honey.
Darling, the rivers twist and turn and fade away slowly,
We live together with ease, but in the universe, we can't coexist.
With patience and passion, you weave your creation,
Out of the darkest black holes and dark matter.
When I turn around your hard work to a mere singularity,
You feel your world shatter; you count yourself as weak.
But don't you see - the flowers loving you more than honey.
And the man lives with joy even though he knows he'll greet me.
It takes respect and desire to be the one with the power,
But I lack both as I choose to be an easy disaster.

She knew the song, but every time it felt different. With a satisfied smile and emotionless eyes, death took the leaves and turned them to what the flowers were but before he could do so, she was turning the infinite into finite, the intangible into tangible.

"We have different roles, Death," said Life, resurrecting a beautiful flower from the mess. "But the important fact is - we are one."

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