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The Heart Girt With a Serpent
I gasped for breath. Death held me in his arms. He sang of maggots and rot.
“The hell?” I demanded.
He looked at me guiltily. The song changed to worms. I sighed, too weak to rise. The rain was sweet on my tongue.
“Is this some shamanic death-rebirth thing?” I said weakly.
He nodded in response. His raven wings furled open. They glistened with hidden jewels.
“Remind me to never do acid.”
“Rest, lemming.” He fell silent. His eyes were piercing blue.
“Your eyes. They're from before the Fall. This was your old gaze, wasn't it?”
“Do you ever sleep?” he lamented.
“I can sleep when I'm dead.”
He sighed, tracing the back of my neck. “Why didn't you run away?”
I leaned my head on his chest. “To where, Corpseboy? Home? I
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