“I would like to apologize for the mistake,” said the creature before her, “profusely.”

Amanda slowly nodded, her gaze never leaving the strange being. He appeared to be a shirtless, blue-skinned demon with four arms, standing twice Amanda’s height. His head ended above his nose and instead, white fire blazed from out of his skull into the air. He had introduced himself as 'Ruga.'

“I’m dead?” Amanda asked for the third or fourth time.

It was not that she disbelieved him, her mind was simply caught in a loop. Amanda remembered walking in the rain, cold drops of water trickling through her hair. She’d stepped into a bus and settled down on one of the hard, plastic seats. The air within had been muggy. She’d rubbed her jacket elbow against the window to better see out as the bus had started to move. It had picked up speed and then…

“Yes, I am afraid you are dead,” Ruga said. He sounded truly regretful.

“I don’t feel dead.”

There was a neat hole punched through her memories. One moment, Amanda had been looking out the foggy window and the next she was here, in this high temple of white marble pillars and fountains. It was as though she’d nodded off—she could feel time had passed but recalled nothing of what had happened.

The demon steepled together a pair of blue hands. “One of our arts. Sudden, violent deaths rip the soul from the body. We have removed the memory to help lessen the trauma and I poured a soothing mantra over you before bringing you back to consciousness.”

“I’m dead?” Amanda said and then winced. “Sorry, I know I’ve said that a bunch of times already.”

“Think nothing of it. Injuries to the spirit are as grave as those to the body, but I understand such things are poorly understood in your world. I will frame it this way: imagine you have revived in a hospital bed, your legs amputated, and are delirious from blood loss and the painkillers given to you. That is what has happened to your soul.”

Amanda shuttered. Ruga's voice as was calm and smooth as the water flowing from the fountains, but his words caused a spike of ice in her gut.

She rubbed her arms, suddenly very cold. Amanda felt goosebumps along her skin but if what this demon said were true, this wasn’t her body at all. This was—what, an illusion?

“Can you tell me how I died?”

He nodded. “Your bus hit a young man. It was an accident overseen by fate, for his soul was a special one. He was what we call a shard. Unfortunately, his powers had awakened early. When the bus struck and killed him, a shockwave broke from his body, destroying the bus and those within it.”

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“Oh…” There were terrible implications to that. More than she could handle right now. Amanda took a jagged breath. She was dead. Dead. Gone. Her life was over, just like that---

“What about my cat?” she asked. Amanda had left Chance with food and water, but that would only last a few days.

“I will personally handle that matter and any other affairs you wish me to look into. I can promise you that your pet will be promptly rescued and your cousin will take him in. He will live eight more years in comfort.”

Amanda murmured a ‘thank you.’ “What about my family?”

“We have altered the past so that you had life insurance. It will provide appropriate funds for your funeral as well as a modest amount for your parents.”

“If you can alter the past that way, can’t you make it so I don’t die? I miss the bus or the driver swerves at the right moment…”

Ruga lowered his head and nodded no.

“It’s not fair,” she said, tears were starting to sting her eyes. “It wasn’t a great life—some days it sucked—but it was mine! You had no right to take it from me. I don’t care what you are, you shouldn’t be making buses hit people. I don’t care if you are fate or angels, that’s still murder!”

He reached out one giant hand, cupping the air above her and then tilting his palm slowly. Golden liquid flowed downward and sprinkled on Amanda’s head. She couldn’t feel it land but as each drop touched her, she heard a faint chant within her head. A soothing lullaby. Her anger receded.

“It’s not right. Taking my pain like that—it’s mine.”

“You need to rest and recover. Pain will not serve you now.”

She sagged in her chair, suddenly tired down to her very marrow. “What’s next?”

“That is up to you. Most souls are bathed in the Lethe to clean away the residue of their previous life, but traces of the Shard’s energy yet linger on you. I might weave the strand of your life into the tapestry of the world the Shard now resides in. You would be reborn and some portion of your memories and personality would be restored in time.”

“Not all?”

“You have already lost parts of yourself; I could not return them if I wished.”

“I want to go back to my world.”

“With a portion of your memories intact? No, we will not allow it. If you desire to return to Earth, you will bathed in Lethe. Your soul will be as fresh as any newborn’s, free to develop with a new mind and body.”

Amanda understood the demon’s meaning. It was up to her to decide what it meant to live. Was the continuation of her soul enough, or were her thoughts and memories so much a part of her that their destruction was her death? If you’d asked Amanda a day ago, she’d have expressed serious doubt about the existence of a soul. She was her thoughts, feelings, and behaviors—not some nebulous, invisible, imperceptible thing attached to them.

According to this being, that was wrong. For a moment, Amanda considered the notion that this was all some trauma-induced hallucination. Though she wasn’t sure if such a state would actually be an improvement from her situation. It was also possible that the demon lied, but this was so far from Amanda’s experiences, she had no way of telling what might be true or not.

“What is this other world like?”

“It is a world of magic and monsters. Its echoes have reached your world, so much of what it contains has appeared in your mythology and folklore. There are many people and many cultures—what it is ‘like’ will depend on where you are. If you wish, I will show you parts of it and families you can choose to be born into.”

Amanda took a deep, slow breath. This was what she preferred, but the idea of sitting down and selecting parents like going through swatches of colors before painting a room was slightly terrifying.

“Can you do the golden mind oil chant again?” she asked. “I could use it.”