The monster quirks a brow; perhaps the only sign he’ll ever bear of his emotion. “So you do not fear death?”

“No,” she grits, “Not when I cannot deny it.”

“But what if you can?”

He flashes to her and like his touch; it feels no different than the wind blowing. He grazes her cheek ever so softly with his fingers then lingers at her jaw before gripping her chin and tipping them to align their eyes. “I am death and I am giving you the choice to deny me.”