if i come without a thing, i come with all i need.

[Brine]

brine

I turned off my light, harder to find
that way

This hasn’t been her year, in all fairness.

No, our ghostly Brine has in fact had the exact opposite of a good year. And, she contemplates this as her eyes narrow on the peculiar creature taking menacing strides towards her.

The grim reaper has finally come to fruition.

It’s her time.

His body presses against hers and she feels his harshness and jagged texture, it triggers an unexpected chill to release deep through her neck. She isn’t entirely sure how to act in this sort of situation. His scales additional armor, the violent and hideous way big horns sprouted from what should be his eye sockets.

But, death is ugly; isn’t it?

He speaks, his voice a discordant violin. And, he says she is his.

Like hell I am.

“Pangea?” she asks, an irritable tone gripping to every vowel, though angst mutes her from saying more. “Is that another word for the afterlife?”