Birdsong drifted, carried by the winds. It wandered between tall, vine covered towers, and the leaves stirred in its wake. It wafted down ruined avenues, winding between the trunks of conifers that had long since conquered the ancient stonework. It floated through orange groves that had once been parks, and orchards that had once been market squares.

The music found its way down to a garden filled with roses and ornamental trees. They swayed, twisting in time to the music of the nests of the towers, their limbs touched by the fluttering breeze, but not controlled by it.

Sari smiled, her big brown eyes bright with wonder. She sat on the edge of a fountain that had stopped working centuries ago, choked with nettles and daisies. She held one of her hands out before her, white furred, its fingers tipped with tiny black claws. She waggled it to the left, and then to the right.

As one, the trees and roses swayed left with the creak and groan of twisting bark. Then they swayed right.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Sari waved to the roses and the ornamental trees. They, and all the grass about them, waved back.

Sari giggled. She held up her doll, Mika, to the crowd of plants. With a thought this time, she made them all hail the crudely carved little figure with a blue cloth dress. Sari’s laugh mixed with the music of the birds far above.

Death came. It swept through the grass, turning it black. The roses withered, their blackened petals littering the dead ground. Trees shuddered and crumbled, their limbs snapping and crashing to the ground. The birds stopped singing and took flight.

Sari clutched her doll, too terrified to even let out a gasp. Tears welled in her eyes, her little lip trembling as she struggled to understand. It had been going so well. What had she done wrong? Had it been a gesture? A thought? She turned about on the edge of the fountain full of rotting plants, towards the hole in the wall he had been watching her from. Then she understood.

He wasn’t there. She was alone again.

The little girl that was Death clutched her doll to her chest as she began to cry.