Mourning With Purpose

Malvor had a lot of time to think.

All night, he held her. Whispered to her. Watched her breathe. Traced her runes with reverent fingertips and made promises only the stars could hear.

But as the sky outside his realm began to lighten in that slow, otherworldly way it did, no sun, just shifting color and warmth, his mind cleared.

He didn't mean to fall this hard. But gods, how could he not? She trusted him like he was worthy. Slept beside him like he wouldn't break her. Smiled at him like he was only a man. It undid him in the best way.

There was only one person who might know what was happening to Annie.

Calavera.

The oldest of them all. The quiet one. The watcher.

The goddess of death.

He grimaced.

"If depression had a zip code," he muttered, "it would be her entire realm."

But she would know.

She always did.

He sat up carefully, brushing Annie's hair from her cheek as she slept. Then, with a whisper, he called to Arbor.

"Send a message to Calavera. Tell her I wish to visit this afternoon. With Annie as my guest."

The answer came way too fast.

A pulse of silver light blinked once through the wall.

Yes.

Malvor sighed.

Of course she would say yes. She was always waiting. Watching. Like death itself, patient, inevitable, inconvenient.

He ran a hand through his hair, already dreading the aesthetics alone. If he had to describe her realm in a phrase, it would be "elegant funeral." Beautiful in its own way, yes. Deeply meaningful.

But also, so goth.

He could already feel the velvet.

Still, this was not about him.

It was about her.

About Annie. His Annie.

He got up quietly, still not waking her, and went to the kitchen to conjure what she'd want that morning.

Not something dark.

Something sweet.

He made her an iced coffee with vanilla cold foam, swirling cinnamon on top in the shape of a heart. He even added a little glimmer of edible magic dust, it sparkled faintly like star dust as the ice clinked gently in the glass.

Then he brought it to their room.

She was still wrapped in the blanket like royalty, one bare shoulder exposed, a slight frown creasing her brow in sleep.

He smiled.

And then leaned down.

He kissed her temple first.

Then her cheek.

Then her shoulder.

Then her ribs, her hip, her wrist, slow, sensual, sweet, not hungry but full. A kind of kiss that said I have time. I choose you again today.

Annie stirred, soft and content, a sleepy smile curling her lips.

"Mmm… that is a good way to wake up," she murmured, not opening her eyes yet.

He grinned against her skin. "There's iced coffee on your nightstand. Sweet. Cold. With foam. I even did the fancy swirl."

Her eyes cracked open slightly, pupils dilating. "You know me so well."

"I try."

She yawned, stretching, still tangled in the blanket. "Are we staying in bed again today?"

He paused.

Then brushed her hair gently behind her ear.

"Not today," he said quietly. "I reached out to someone."

She raised a brow. "Who?"

"Calavera."

That woke her up fully.

Annie sat up, blinking. "The goddess of death?"

He nodded. "I think… I think she might know what kind of magic is inside you. What it is doing. What it means."

She watched him for a moment, thoughtful.

And then, to his surprise, she didn't resist.

She simply took a small sip of the coffee and said, "Good. Let's go get some answers."

He exhaled slowly, some small tension in his chest easing.

Because if anyone could walk into death's domain without flinching—

It was Annie.

Malvor groaned as he pulled open the tall, creaking armoire at the edge of their room, an old thing Arbor had provided specifically for this kind of occasion. Shadows curled around the hinges like smoke. Inside: mourning clothes. Dozens of them.

All black. Every shade imaginable, midnight, ash, obsidian, void. Textures of velvet, silk, lace, leather. Ancient robes, military cuts, tight formal wear, and long flowing cloaks that screamed I'm grieving fabulously.

He sighed. "This woman makes a funeral look like a fashion show."

Annie padded up behind him in her robe, sipping the last of her iced coffee. "So she's still obsessed with the aesthetic."

"She made Luxor wear eyeliner last time."

"Doesn't he always wear eyeliner?" She says in a half laugh.

Malvor shrugs and nods, "Yes technically."

"I'm sorry I miss that guy liner."

"No you are not."

Annie peeked in and raised a brow. "Okay, but some of this is actually hot."

"I hate that I agree with you."

He pulled out a coat with a collar so high it could double as a neck brace. Another outfit was a black velvet jumpsuit with actual embroidered doves crying blood. "Absolutely not," he muttered, tossing it aside.

"I'm going to grieve, not join a gothic boy band." Annie held up a dramatic floor-length robe with sleeves so wide they looked like wings.

"What about this one?"

"Only if you want to be mistaken for a very sad bat."

After some deliberation, Malvor chose a tailored black suit with sharp lapels and an embroidered collar that glinted silver in the right light, like a whisper of bones. He added a silver chain at his throat and a long, flowing coat with a raven's feather motif on the shoulders. The look said Yes, I've buried my heart. But also, I am still better than you.

Annie, meanwhile, selected a long black dress that clung in all the right places and moved like smoke when she walked. It had sheer sleeves and tiny dark pearls sewn across the collarbone like drops of midnight. She looked divine.

Malvor looked her up and down and promptly forgot what breathing was.

"…Annie."

She tilted her head. "Yes?"

"I think I just went through all five stages of grief looking at you."

She smirked. "Perfect. You are dressed for it."

He offered his arm. "Shall we go impress Death?"

She took it with a dark grin. "Let's go make a corpse jealous."

And with that, the god of chaos and the girl carved in runes vanished into shadows, wrapped in mourning, but burning with purpose.