Robin's dorm was not a particularely fancy one. She was scarcely wealthy enough to afford a room without a partner, but still, it was a place to live- and a home to inhabit. The young artist had tried to recreate it as a niche of her own...

The entire place consisted of only four rooms, a living quarter of mediocre size being what ate up the largest space. The floor lay coated in a gross yellow-brown carpet from only the gods could guess how many years ago, the kind that could itch and bite at one's feet, even through thick socks. The walls stood tall, painted in a similarly disgusting color of which Robin had tried to counter by hanging her paintings around- the most bright and colorful possible, (one of which being her most recent of the Goddess Grace as she'd seen from the mall)... Yet still, with such dim, cheap lighting from the lamps on the shelves... it felt murky.

Three weeks...

It had been three weeks since the two strange occurences, Glenn's words... the chance meeting of a Goddess in a shopping center... A part of Robin had wanted to simply forget it all and go on with her life, and yet- because of that same whispering part of her mind, the girl had become obsessed with finally proving to herself that magic could not exist.

And the best way to do this, was to try a spell... And why not the most dangerous, ridiculous sounding one that she had found? So, the masses of papers, sketchbooks and art supplies had all been shoved off to the side, as Robin worked to set up the outrageously impossible calling. The ingredients had all been prepared in advance, stacked up beside the teenager in a neat pile- parchment from the art store, candles of all colors, red ink in an unlabeled vile, a crow's sharpened wingfeather that rested in the small brass bowl she'd hunted down garage-saling... The stolen earth had even been found and slept with for the required time, and finally, there was the frightningly sharp knife from her cabinet. Ceremonial daggers where in short supply, after all...

The circle had just been completed, and now, as the girl looked upon it with bright-eyed approval to her perfectly made pentagramic thing that practically glowed a snowy white across the horrid carpet. With a delicate hand and a light step, she gently placed the candles, two as black as night upon the left, two as bright as day on the right, and her main focus- the blood red in the center.

Next came the bowl. Robin slid it down in the accustomed spot, opened the containter of dirt, and dumped it in without spilling a single grain of the dead substance... All the while, her heart, and her thoughts, raced madly.

...This will prove it... This has to prove it... I can't let myself go on wondering...

Now for the writing task. The word was scribed just as directly, Azrael's scrawling name in beautiful scarlet ink, then set back off on a countertop... Next step, what was it? Yes, the chant... How stupid, she mused, and yet... it seemed to add an aire of ancient mystery to the brew. So, stifling a laugh, she took up the knife in one hand- and began. "...I call on my death, I call on my dreams..." repeat, etc... All that. But for the last steps, there was a slight hesitation- as her umber eyes scanned over the glimmering blade. Dare she? Hell, why not?

She couldn't help but cry out as the blade ripped across her flesh by the crook of the arm, and instantly, a thin stream of blood welled from the crude wound... It sank into the soil, staining it a dark maroon color... "..I call you!"

The parchment flared to life... Robin dropped it in the moment she saw the name eaten into ashed, her voice more squelched then before with the pain. "I call you!!!"

A part of the girl wanted the spell to be nothing more then a dud… but yet… another part longed to see this magic work. She was so torn between it all… If Azrael indeed did appear, would he allow her a portrait? Her thoughts cut in swiftly. why the hell am I even thinking this?! It’s.. not real…

Apparently, is it.

Cold slams into the room like a hammer, and frost congeals inside the protection of the circle, creeping just up to its boundary like a living thing, growing in time-lapse photography. A noise begins, very faint at first, then growing... not growing louder, but growing more tangible, as if God had struck the highest note on the piano and all the glass in your brain were shattering.

Then smoke speeds into existance in the protective circle, swirling voraciously into the form of a tall, dark figure moving very fast. And then, all at once, the smoke snaps into solidity and he's standing there, Death, in an entirely black business suit, looking rather solemn and pale. Very pale. Pale and gaunt, in fact. Even his eyes are white, and are heavily lined with dark eyeliner in a gothic look that doesn't quite match his suit, but doesn't really clash. His hair is white as well, lightly curled around his ears like something from a marble statue.

"Yes?"

Ah, the voice... there's just something so unnatural about it.

For as pale as death himself was, it seemed to be nothing in comparison to the white to which Robin instantly bleached. That voice was like a viper, coiling itself around her soul and sinking icicle fangs deep in... It terrified her in ways that the teenager had never even fathomed... and all at once, she found herself to be caught in the stupor of his meer presence, like a deer standing blinded before a semi, the moment of it's last breath.

The still bleeding wound on her arm was instantly forgotten, pain being nothing compared to the sheer overwhelminginess... Her throat was too dry to speak for what seemed to be a long time... Finally, something forced it's way out- the voice of a thing more timid then any mouse, and as ragged as a shred of fabric...

"oh m'god.... you're... you're death... a-aren't you, sir?..."

This fear... Robin could scarcely still rationalize over it... Why was it so flooding, so cold? How was this possible?! It wasn't real, magic didn't exist!!! So... then why, why, how could this man, the living incarnation of the fate of all things be standing here before her?

Death stares dubiously at the protective circle that encloses him, then turns his ice-white gaze on the mortal girl herself.

"I had better be, now hadn't I. It was me you obviously intended to call." He lifts an eyebrow at her.

The voice is very strange, indeed-- like a single violin playing through a tribal drum beat, it lies on a different angle than the rest of reality, standing out like snow in summer.

"Y-yes... that's right... s-sir..." Robin could feel her heart constricting now, an entire beat missed at the moment she dared to look into those freezing white eyes. I'm going to keel over if I stay standing... So, the girl obeyed her thoughts and dropped to her knees instead... The room was still spinning, however.

"I-i'm so sorry... I didn't think... I didn't believe it was real... I thought you were all... just make believe.. I..." Then, something hit her... This prickling intuitive feeling... it was the same that she had felt in the mall- and turning glancing back at her painting of Grace on the wall- realized... She was a goddess....

Too many things caving in at once... too much. It was almost enough to ruin her.

Death obviously has no sympathy for the mortal girl.

"It's nice to be shown the proper respect," he gestures to her kneeling position, "But did you call me here just to babble at me, or was there some specific reason?"

The god frowns in the direction of the knife she'd used to perform the spell.

"Children shouldn't play with knives."

"...I'mreallysorry!" Robin squeaked it all in one word, cringing, before she could even realize it. In this state, she had become absolutely obedient... so overwhelmed that she was bent to his will as an absolute. She averted her eyes to the murky carpeted floor, hands trembling- not just from the forgotten pain of a lanced arm.

"...I... didn't believe you would... come... sir... I thought I was just proving to myself... t-that gods didn't exist- but since you did... I mean..." hesitation... Her throat was drying out again... Nervousness had planted it's roots deep in. "...I apologize f-for bringing you here... but if... you had a moment to spare someone like me... Could I get a quick sketch of you... just to.. remember this?"

H-he'll never let you... idiot... this is a god... an almighty being, and he probably knows what you're thinking, planning on doing.. everything.... he might just kill you now for annoying him... Oh, how she hoped her intuition wasn't right this time...

Standing perfectly still within the confines of the circle, the monochromatic god raises a single eyesbrow.

'You want to draw me?"

"...yessir..." again, a submissive little squeak. Robin no longer dared to look up at him... She felt to childishly afraid to do so. A slight gesture was made to the painting on the wall, with hands still quavering.

"...I... rather... by accident, already portrayed one... And I was hoping that I could try and get that same beauty on paper again... sir..."

This is... so stupid... what god would let a mortal try to draw them?... He's too above me for this... Indeed, what god would ever allow a mortal to try and portray them? It was ridiculous... But he really was so beautiful, in a haunting, deadly way... Something that screamed to be caught in a still.

"How about this, Robin." Of course he knows her name.

He gestures at the circle that encloses him.

"You release me, and I pose for you. Yes?"

"...oh... I didn't even know-..." Quickly she caught herself, "...-yes, i'll let you go... I didn't mean to do that... I'm sorry..." Robin had to regain the control of herself before she was able to get near the circle, trying to remember the spell. At first, words illuded her, but as the red haired youth began, it all fell into a complete puzzle.

"...Azrael... Sir... you grace me with you presence... I release you from my calling with thanks..." And drawing in a sharp, shallow breath (for she had been holding it until now), Robin smote the Cadala flame, and quickly scrambled back against the wall once more- still fearful of intruding on his space.

A sketchbook and pencil happened to be near her in a pile, so she scrabbled for it... But waited, nervous, to even look upon what she held- as if seeing if Azrael would just hit her with some nasty revenge first. The fact that he knew her name was enough to maket he girl believe he could do anything on a whim...

Azrael breathes out, seeming to relax. He sweeps a hand around him, and Robin's spell material-- the candles, the markings, even the little brass bowl-- disappear. He steps out of the area, sweeping into the room and turning to stare down at Robin with a grin spreading across his face. This is not a comforting smile.

"How do you want me to pose?"

"...u-um..." Again, when Robin dared to look up at those piercing white eyes... that frightful grin, she felt her heart jolt, an entire two beats skipped. The girl could feel herself reeling again... "...However you feel most comfortable, s-sir... I.... like seeing people's own tendencies uninfluenced... especially... s-since you're a god, sir... I mean, I don't think I have the knowledge to figure out a casual pose for someone... like you, sir..."

Oh, she hoped that he hadn't taken that badly...

"What, would you prefer something like... this?" and suddenly he's a skeleton. His white skin just contracts into bone and the black suit expands into the traditional robe.

He still has white eyes, though.

And he poses, like a drama major.

Even as white as she was, Robin bleached a few shades paler, staring wide eyed at the skeletalized being as if it were a nightmarish dream. "O-oh... t-that's wonderful, sir... t-thankyou..." Stammering couldn't even be controlled, and she had given up on supressing it. Screw that. Her work started...

Drawing under stress wasn't as simple a thing as one would think... And yet, feeling the all too familiar movements of the pencil gliding, the tiny scratchy noise of graphite powdering, was a much needed sedative. Robin could finally catch her breath and think straight once more (not to say, though, that se wasn't still scared silly).

The form took shape with a few clean lines, just a structure to mark the pose, before she focussed on the face. It had to be perfect. Robin wouldn't allow her mortal flaws to blemish such a strange, even intrigueing creature as a god. As she glanced from subject, to canvas, to subject again, the girl even dared to speak. It was her way of trying to diffuse a little tension.

"...Mister Azrael... Would you mind if I asked you something?..."

"It's sort of expected," he murmurs, barely moving from his pose. Nothing can stand so still as something not technically alive.

And of course he's grinning. He doesn't have any lips as a skeleton and can't make any other expression.

"That's one of the things people call me for."

Slowly, Robin was starting to ease herself into things... It wasn't so bad, was it? One would have thought that staring death in the face, let alone drawing him, would have been something quite stressful. On the contrary, it was the opposite. He didn't... really seem so horrible...

"...I take it then that you're used to clueless humans..." There was a small, frail smile on her lips- but it withered and died swiftly. "...Do you abhore my existance for calling you here?" She really was rather curious on his viewpoint of being summoned... Although it came out with a much more bitter flavor then intended, "...I-I mean... to you, people are nothing but flies... or playthings, are we not?...."

The eyes where nearly finished by this point, to which Robin felt satisfied with. That bizarre, haunting, soul piercing white gaze had finally been captured, so now, she worked on to the rest of the face- or... the lack there of.

"It's rather annoying to be so summarily called..." Azrael says, with a slight nod.

"However, you certainly seem... apologetic."

He doesn't comment on the matter of godhood versus humanity.

"...Sorry... about that, sir..." How ironic, apologizing for being apologetic. Unphased, and atlast realitively calm, she merely continued to lay deep shadows into the skinless face of death upon her paper.

"...I didn't mean to bother you... with this, sir... I didn't even think it would really work... and... i'm in debt to you for tolerating me with this... that's why I'm sorry, I think..." She paused, for some unknown reason. Perhaps she was droning too much. "...Are you as old as the beginning of creation.... or where you created because humans believed that there had to be some high lord over death?..." Hmm, for a mortal, she had a laser-like intuition. It was perhaps the one thing Robin possessed which most others did not... though in this case, it might end up going too far.

Alas, everything could be a double edged sword.

"Death," he replies, "Is as old as life." This really isn't much of an answer.

He continues to pose, not moving.

"...By your vagueness, I take it... mortals aren't supposed to know these sorts of things... Grace wasn't very keen on things like that, either... it's understandible." And, just like she had at the mall, Robin decided not to prod into more. She'd finished the head, the neck vertabrae, and now, worked to get all the folds of cloth right that draped across Azrael's skeletal form.

"..People aren't really creatures who deserve to know all the secrets of the universe.... we get too greedy... we're horrible things when you look at it... destructive, heartless, war mongering..." Perhaps she was merely rambling, to keep herself from hyperventilating any more. But it felt strangely good to talk, even if he didn't care to listen. "...In the end... we'll probably end up destroying ourselves or some pointless what not... Makes me sad to even know I live and breathe with that on my conscience."

It may have been a little dramatic, but when one thought of it, all the things seemed true, really. Robin had always been bothered by stuff such as this. She merely didn't bring it up often.

There isn't much expression available to a skeleton.

"It's interesting," he muses, in a tone that suggests that if he had skin and muscle, he'd look thoughtful and amused, "You humans are such a self-hating species. It's a strange thing I've noticed about you."

If there was a shard of a smile on Robin's lips, it was a dismal one... She nodded solemnly to his words, shadowing and smudging with her finger all the while. Her arm still bled, but was long forgotten... It's only use to her was to lend a bit of blood to mark the page corner with. This was a sort of personal insignia she figured might be worth using.

"Well... we really aren't a good thing... like a cancer on the planet... We kill without reason, poisin the earth on which we live without giving a rat's ass... And..." She paused, to bring her gaze upon him again- only partly to refresh the subject matter in her mind, "...A person really realizes it when they're staring at something... more perfect then they could ever even think of in their inferior mind.

...You probably know you're a good example of this... I take it...."

"So you consider yourself-- you, Robin-- to be a disgusting thing, not worth being suffered to live?"

This is said in a deliberately thoughtful tone.

"I could do something about that, if you like."

Robin could feel her hand snap into horrible shaking at the mention of this, so badly, infact, that the pencil she held slipped from between her sweaty fingers. In an attempt to regain composure, the girl swallowed down hard and grabbed it again. She forced herself to continue.

"...I'm probably not worthy of living... I really doubt it..." She admitted, eyes dim with some hidden remorse, "...but I'm trying to make it better. If my life is a pointless hell, I can atleast use it to make some other lives a bit nicer before I rot in my grave..."

"Then it's not pointless, is it?"

Really, he doesn't particularly approve of this human stoicism... but it's amusing to encourage it.

"How's it going?" The drawing.

"..Um.... well, I hope..." Robin decided to let Azrael decide for himself, so she held up the sketch for him to see. Perhaps he already knew full well what it looked like, oh well... Still, the thing was coming along with rather amazing swiftness- a flawless thing half done, the face a hauntingly shadowed portrait, done as far down at the waist of his robes. She was trying to be quick, without being messy...

Again, back to work. "...I'm sorry if i'm rambling... I do it because... well..." Hell, might as well spill her guts. Why bother to hide things from a being who probably knew all anyway? "...I do it when i'm scared out of my wits..." At this, she smirked again lightly- mocking her own fear, her own weakness. It was to her full understanding that she was beneath him, and Robin wasn't bothered to admit it, anymore.

"The concept of death frightens you." It's just a statement, flatly said.

He nods at the drawing, though whether this is approval or simply acknowledgement, only he knows.

"...I guess it does..." She stated, distant... "...Or... I think i'm just afraid of not living anymore... Not so much death..." It all seemed like one in the same, but Robin could figure a slight difference.

The robe was almost done... Half of her screamed inside to finish quicker, but another tiny fragment of herself seemed almost regretting it... She rather wanted to talk to him a bit more...

"But I am just... human... after all, I have my faults... I'm just like the rest of them who act tough and feel like crying on the inside. That's human nature... human will... atleast... But you're an omnipotent being, you know that already... I shouldn't tell you old news."

Azrael does not respond. Possibly, had he lips, he'd be smirking. Possibly not. it's rather hard to tell, as he's just standing there, like a posed skeleton in a wax gallery-- the only thing sentient about him his eyes.

And so, Robin also lapsed into a silent stagnation, her mind restless and uneasy, but continueing all the while... The rest of the sketch finally filled itself in, capping off the graceful form of the death god by a little heavy shadowing in the background... It was a real work. With a slight grimace, she looked up.

"..um... t-thankyou for doing this for me, sir... I'm sorry to have called you here.... And... I'm... in your debt.. for my blunder and what you did...."

Allowed freedom from his pose, Death drops into a sweeping bow.

"A pleasure to be appreciated. I will see you around." A promise, a threat-- it doesn't matter. It's a certainty.

And with that, he disappears completely, leaving in his wake no trace that he was ever ther,e but for Robin's drawing.

Promise or threat, it mattered not, as Robin sat there on the floor- in shock and disbelief which lasted several hours into the waning night. It had all felt like nothing but a dream, an illusion... some impossible thing, and yet, there it was... and had been. There was not enough denial in the world to subdue this fact.

But the girl eventually broke herself of the stupor.

She continued through the rest of the night in what was often her usual schedule. A hot bath was drawn, and in it, tears were cried... The girl couldn't realize their purpose, but in the seclusion of her own drab apartment, there was enough safety to let them stream free. A robe was all she dawned upon her thin, shaking body to travel to bed.

And so, Robin slept her dreamless sleep. Perfectly normal, perfectly average and within the parameters of normal life. The pentagramic symbol was gone... All was gone, he was gone... Yet, out in the cramped living room, the picture had already been hung- a monochromatic contrast beside the goddess in oils, it's eyes as cold and white as those which had burned holes into her memory. In the corner, a few words had been messily scrawled, bloodspots dabbled around and upon the ink to show the haste and fervor in their creation.

Death, Azrael the harbringer

And that was all. The title, perhaps, or just a note... Robin would never care to think of it again.