I am on the edge of a cliff looking down at the waves crashing against the rocks. The harsh winds are blowing my hair from my face and rocking my body forward. I am trembling from the cold and fear but I can't move away, I am stuck. I feel a hand on my right shoulder, they grip my shoulder tightly digging their nails through my clothes onto my skin. I still can't move.

You should have died with your mother.

They shove my body forward to the body of water, I squeezed my eyes shut letting myself await my death. I dropped brutally on the thunderous waves. I plummet to the depths of the water where everything is murky, dark, and cold. I am concentrating on my breathing but the water is continuously filling the inside of my lungs, my arm extends upwards as I claw to reach the top.

I am sinking further, I am losing. I am dying.

Hopelessly, I scream.

Bubbles come from my mouth and more water is pushed down my lungs. My breathing is decreasing and soon the blackened water engulfs me.

You should have died with your mother. You should have died with your mother. YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED WITH YOUR MOTHER.

The voice pierces the words inside my head drilling them until I say them. I should have died with my mother.

My body springs forward from my bed and I begin to cough as if there was still water inside my lungs. Cold sweat drenches my clothes as they cling to my skin, my hair is all over the place. I place my hand over a pounding heart and try to tell myself it was a nightmare. But this was different because a nightmare has never felt so real, and now voices were forming inside them.

I thought I had escaped the voices, but these sounded different and it was only one voice. I moved the strands of hair away from my face and try not to overthink the nightmare.

Regaining some stability, I ripped the covers away from me and got up from my bed as I reached over for a sweater pulling it over. I notice the alarm clock on the nightstand showing it's the middle of the night. So much for sleep.

I walk over to the kitchen to grab a cup of water when I hear a knock on the door. It is nearly three in the morning, who would show up at this time? Only a lunatic, a killer. Another knock is pressed against the door. It's urgent. I pull my sweater tighter and reach for the same knife I had earlier when I threaten to kill myself in front of Death.

I move towards the door slowly and raspily call out, "Who is it?"

I could hear shuffles from the other side and an exasperated sigh.

"Me." He answered stiffly.

It was Hans, Death's bodyguard was the one knocking on my door at three in the morning. Before I know it I am opening the door and I am confronted by his stoic expression, he is dressed in black clothing. Can any other color exist?

I blink at him, "What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night." I said raspily.

He becomes quiet and his oceanic eyes are darting between the floor and my door, he wants to come inside.

"May I talk to you? Inside?" He asks politely.

This might be the first time I ever hear him speak clearly. I shouldn't invite him for one, it's late. Two, I don't know him. And three, I really don't know him. But I realize he is alone, Death isn't with him.

I move my body to the side and open the door for him to step in, "Only because I can't sleep."

He presses his lips and nods as he walks inside while I close the door behind him. Feeling the handle of the knife on my hand still, I place it back on the counter as I watch Hans look around my apartment. There is nothing to look at, it's empty. 

No bold colors. No decorations. No pictures. Only a couch in the center of the living room with nothing to look at. I sometimes stare at the dull walls and watch life pass quickly before me, I like to think it helps.

I open the fridge pull out the pitcher of water and grab two glass cups from the cupboards.

"What do you want to talk about? And why aren't you here with your arrogant God?" I asked as I pour water into the cups.

I push the glass cup to him and he accepts it but doesn't drink from it.

"Would you prefer it if he were here?" He counters.

I bring the cup to my lips and stare at him, raising a brow towards him. I didn't mind that he didn't come with Death, however, why he was here without him was unsettling. Hans didn't show any emotion or expression at least with Death even if he faked his emotions he expressed something.

After an uncomfortable silence rests between us Hans speaks up again.

"I am here...because I want to talk to you about your prediction to Death." He begins.

I should have never opened the door.

Hans twirls the cup rocking the water between the glass walls and says, "He isn't a good person. He isn't a good person because he is a God." He places the cup down, "But like a person, he has felt every emotion of what grief could be. You understand that, don't you? Better than anyone."

I don't understand because to understand means you are aware of it. I have felt it, the feeling of loss and the mighty waves of grief pushing me down. Similar to the nightmare I had, the ocean's depth is bottomless making you sink further.

"Better than anyone." I echoed.

He was going to try to convince me into giving Death his prediction but I repeated the same words I told Death, "I am still not giving him the prediction." Hans sat down on one of the wooden stools and looked across from me.

"He saved you, you know? It might not seem like it but he saved you from the Fates and that should count for something. If he hadn't given you a punishment you would have suffered a terrible punishment from them." He argued.

I responded harshly, "I didn't ask to be saved. I would rather have any other fate than the one I have right now."

"You wouldn't say that if you knew the capabilities of the Fates but I am not here to talk about them. This prediction that he wants, he can only get from you. He won't admit this but you know you have power over him right now and he hates it. But he needs you so give it to him." He almost begs.

Power over the God of Death. Now those are words that bring me joy and interest.

I tap my fingers against the marble counter, "What does he want? What is it that he wants me to give him in this prediction?" I am curious. Why is it that I am the only one who could give it to him? What is it that he is looking for?

"His wings." His shoulders are tense and his blue eyes blink looking into mine, "He wants his wings."

My eyebrows furrowed as I look at Hans' robotic face and try to understand the words that came out of his mouth. His wings. His wings. His wings. The God of Death has wings?

I stopped tapping my fingers against the counter and began to shake my head.

"I don't understand. What wings? He has wings?"

Hans releases a sigh, "He used to have wings but they-" I feel myself leaning closer, "They no longer exist. But he was granted an opportunity to get them back through the prediction of the crier of souls. A banshee."

Death used to have wings and he wants them back. I am the only person who could give him an answer but it doesn't make sense. I don't foretell futures or hopes. I don't understand any of this, I don't think I can believe this.

I rake my fingers through my hair as I move away from the counter and I pick up the water pitcher putting it back inside the fridge.

"No, you have it wrong. I don't predict hope." I speak unsteadily.

I hear the wooden stool scrape against the floor and a commotion unfolds. A strong wind of air passes and I almost lose my balance, none of the windows are open. I turn around to face Hans and I am greeted by his unexpected true form.

Hans stands tall and proud in the middle of my living room with his wings spread out. Hans has wings, wings that are big, feathered, and black. His eyes are no longer blue but a vibrant red, I pressed my back against the fridge.

He held his hands up in surrender, "I am not going to hurt you but I don't think you would believe me if I didn't show you." His eyes switch back to blue but he keeps his wings open, "He used to have wings like these, they were bigger and stronger than mine. I don't know what grief is but if I ever lost my wings I think that would count as a loss. There is no greater loss than when you lose a piece of yourself." He reasoned.

To grieve for yourself before your death must be a different type of loss. One that no one in the world can feel but you. One that no one can understand but you.

I move away from the fridge and move carefully towards Hans, I am awed by his wings. They are spacious, taking in almost the entire width of my living room and they are black feathers. Feathers. I wonder if they are soft or rough? But the more I stare at them I think about Death and his wings, Hans said they were bigger and stronger. How did he lose his wings?

My eyes flicker to Hans, "Your wings are...real." I struggle with the last part.

His shoulders relax. I am starting to think about this prediction and what I should do. I shouldn't help because of what he did to me, I shouldn't even be thinking about changing my answer but these wings. Death saved me yet, he punished me. Death kept his promise of giving me silence and I have not heard anything but my thoughts. I don't want to get involved with him anymore.

One more time, one more time and that's it.

"I will do it." I bit the inside of my cheek.

Hans raises his eyebrows and his wings are shrunk back down to his body no longer visible, he walks towards me and I don't expect what he does next.

He bends one knee down and looks to the floor, "Thank you, Nora. Not only do you have debt from Death but from me too." He promises.

Seeing Hans on one knee almost gives me triumph, like I somehow overpowered him when I haven't done anything. I shake the feeling off and feel uncomfortable as he stays down.

"Please get up. I am feeling tired now. I need to sleep." I tell him dismissively as I begin to walk towards the door.

Hans gets up and his footsteps follow as I open the door to the pitch-black hallway. He walks out the door before he does he turns to me, "Never let Death know I was the one who convinced you. See you soon, banshee."

With that, he walks into the dark hall.

I stumbled back into my bed, closing my eyes trying to picture the God of Death with wings. His wings. When I see them, I think about how terrifyingly beautiful he looks. Absolutely terrifying.