Mortana felt the tug of the reaper's call and knew that she could not ignore it any longer. As much as she wanted to, she knew that if she waited any longer, it would take over her body and force her to do its bidding. She had put it off as long as she could, desperately hoping that some other reaper would show up and do the task. But fate had other ideas.
She took a deep breath and looked up at the grungy alley ahead. The buildings were ancient and covered in grime, the cobblestones under her feet uneven, cracked, and drenched in the filth of a hundred years.
Reluctantly, she made her way down the street, allowing the call of the reaper to pull her ever closer. Each step felt like an eternity, yet the destination still remained unclear. Anxiety began to gnaw away at her, but she had no choice. She had to find the person that the call was for and do it quickly if she wanted to get her cake prepared for the contest in time.
Soon, she stood before a small, nondescript house in a rundown part of town. The windows were covered in cobwebs, and the door hung slightly ajar. She could feel the reaper's call pulling her inside, and though it filled her with dread, she knew this was where she had to go.
She took a deep breath and stepped through the threshold and into the darkness beyond. Instantly, a chill ran down her spine as she took in her surroundings. The house was filled with a sense of foreboding and seemed almost alive with a strange energy. She could practically feel it in the air, the ancient power that had been contained within these walls for many years.
Steadying herself, she cautiously made her way toward the back room. For a moment, she had a strange feeling that someone was watching her, but it soon passed. As she stepped into the room, she saw a single figure sitting in the corner. He was old, his face craggy and his hands trembling. His clothing was tattered and worn, and he seemed to be in a trance-like state.
Calling her scythe to her hand, Mortana readied herself for the worst part of this job. The reason she had run away from it several years ago, leaving behind her family and everything she knew. In one swift movement, she swung her blade through the old man, cringing as she felt his soul rip from his fragile body. His body slumped against the wall, leaving his body still sitting tall.
She slowly knelt beside him and gently touched his arm. “I'm so sorry,” she whispered as the figure slowly stirred. He blinked a few times before slowly opening his eyes and looking up at her. “It's time to go,” she said, her voice barely audible.
The figure did not respond, and for a moment, she thought he hadn't heard her. But then he slowly nodded and rose to his feet. He followed her out of the house and down the street, each step feeling like a step closer to death. Her heart ached for him, for the life that he was about to leave behind. But she had no choice—the reaper's call had been too strong to ignore.
As they walked, he did not speak, and neither did she. There were no words needed between them, for they both knew where they were going and why. Finally, they arrived at the edge of the small floating island. A sea of clouds spread out in front of them.
She waited silently as he looked back at the village one last time. Early on, Mortana had learned that she couldn't ask questions of the dead. Most wanted to share their stories, but it only made this harder on herself. Learning their stories and of those they were leaving behind had nearly broken her. It was almost impossible not to take on the weight of the dead's regrets if she let it get that far. No, letting them go in peace and silence was far better.
His gaze returned to her as he nodded and smiled, his eyes full of sadness and acceptance. And then he walked past her and off the island, his spirit disappearing into the cloudy mist, leaving her alone.
Mortana watched him go, her own heart heavy with sadness. She had done what she had to do. The pain in her chest was now gone, and she could breathe freely, but there was still a sense of guilt that weighed heavily on her. How anyone could choose to do this job, she would never understand. Inheriting these powers had done nothing but force her to be someone she never wanted to become. Someone that most would view as a monster. A name that many of her victims had called her for as long as she could remember.
With a heavy sigh, she turned and made her way back to the small island she called home and to her small cottage, where hopefully, she would be able to find some solace in the cake she was about to bake.
Soon she stood at the wooden counter in her cottage kitchen, the sweet aroma of baking chocolate wafting from the oven. Mortana carefully measured the ingredients for her mint chocolate truffle cake, her hands steady and precise. She paused to enjoy the meditative rhythm of her task, feeling a calm joy in her chest as the ingredients slowly combined into a fragrant batter.
This was why she had started baking as a young teen. It let her forget who she really was for a moment, and she could become lost in the joy of creating something wonderful.
As she measured and stirred, she thought of the fast-approaching competition. The floating cities hosted a cooking contest every year, where the best chefs gathered to demonstrate their culinary prowess. This year, Mortana decided to enter, and she took the task of creating the perfect cake very seriously. She had spent weeks perfecting her recipe and was determined to make her winning entry.
The ingredients for her cake were simple yet carefully chosen. She had gathered creamy chunks of decadent chocolate from the village store, the sweet crunch of mint leaves from the garden in her backyard, and fresh cream. Once combined, the flavors would create a delightful balance of sweet and savory.
As Mortana stirred the batter, she chuckled to herself. Already she could see the finished product in her head and if it turned out even half as good as the test run had it would be a tough cake to beat. She wanted to make something that would stand out from all the other entries, something that the judges wouldn’t be able to forget.
When the batter was ready, Mortana poured it into a parchment-lined cake pan. She slid it into the oven and set the timer, humming a tune as she waited.
Her cottage was filled with the delicious scent of baking chocolate, and she imagined the judges’ reactions when they tasted her creation.
An hour later, Mortana pulled her cake from the oven with a satisfied smile. Setting the cakes aside to cool, she quickly whipped the cream stiff and added vanilla and finely powdered sugar to it as she waited for the chocolate to melt to create her mint chocolate ganache.
Mortana layered it all together, covered the cake in an extra thick layer of whipped cream, and swirled the last scrapings of mint chocolate ganache on top, a final flourish that would make her cake shine.
As she admired her creation, Mortana couldn’t help but feel a thrill of excitement. With a flick of her wrist, she cast a simple spell to keep the cake chilled and dry, placed it in a box, and set it with the cloak and small bag she would be taking with her.
Finally, the day to leave for the competition had arrived, and she was ready to show what she was capable of.
She had chosen an elegant yet modest dress to wear, a simple green skirt, her best corset, and linen top with a flowing black cloak over it. Her long chestnut hair was pulled back into a braid that hung halfway down her back to keep it out of her way while traveling.
She tucked the box containing her cake into her bag, then put on her cloak. Mortana glanced over her shoulder one last time. She would be back soon, she told herself as she turned to go.