The ground is covered in a thick blanket of snow and there's more to come, for a blizzard has swept the region and will last sometime before it finally ends. In the midst of this onslaught sit's a small, isolated cabin. Why should so helpless a structure sit all by itself? Because though nature is relentless, man is capricious and always set to uproot the comfortable.
But the winters are never so long that the spring thaw doesn't bring new life and in that time of regeneration, you would be hard pressed to find a more perfect spot, a veritable heaven on Earth. However, such pleasant time is not now and to the woman inside, the thaw is far from her mind. She stares out at the rushing wind as it batters the countryside. She is waiting, watching for a sign.
Sometime ago her brother, her father and her husband had all gone out, braving the storm as it raged. Why should they do so foolish a thing? For the only other occupant, the woman's child, who at this moment lies bedridden with a terrible fever. And there is a rumor going round of a possible remedy if not cure, but it is miles away within the walls of civilized society.
The woman remains perched upon her place in front of the window that overlooks the only safe passage out of the wilderness. She fears the worse for those who have braved the elements and she knows that their shortcoming will spell the end for her and her son, as neither are equipped to live alone against the bombardment of nature.
It has been some hours since she'd seen them depart and she hasn't a sign of their coming, even their footprints have been covered by the snow blown by the wind. Were it not for the direness of the situation she would have appreciated the pristine beauty of the untouched, velvety cover that is winter's glory.
The fire is dying low in the hearth, unattended in the waning hours of the night despite the collection of wood that stands ready for employment. In this state of perpetual decay there is little light to be had and what remains does little more than cast eerie shadows against the walls. But these, the watcher barely notices as she keeps to her vigil at the window.
The door to the cabin blows open, bringing with it the icy wind which fights a fierce battle against the flames. It is a battle it will lose, but not before bringing it near to death. The woman breaks of her thoughts and hurries to the open portal while fighting against the force of the cold bluster. She places her hand upon the latch and falls to her knees.
Framed by the door itself stands a lone figure, covered entirely by a thick, dark robe fastened round the waist with a white chord. In hand, obscured by a sleeve too long, is a tall wooden staff which hosts at its top a long, curving blade. The supplicant fears she knows the identity of her midnight visitor and so understands only too well its purpose. But she hasn't voice to speak with as it has caught in her throat.
It does not speak, but passes the threshold and the kneeling woman, who no longer cares about the blustering wind or the open door which does nothing to halt its advance. Her only thoughts center around the figure which steps across the floor and she knows its destination without further divination, though, for only a moment, she prays she is mistaken.
The frantic female hurries across the room and stands before the door that is her child's only protection against the reaper come to claim its prize. But this does not halt its advance as it takes hold of the latch and is ready to breeze right past her as though she were not even there. She knows then if she is to have any effect she must act drastically.
She falls to her knees snatching up a portion of the visitor's robe. "My lord please have pity on me!" she begs as she buried her face into the musty material.
"Daughter, why do you cry so?" the reaper speaks for the first time and halts all progress.
For a moment the woman does not hear the hollow cold of the reaper's voice, for even the briefest time she believes it to be her father, waking her from a nightmare. She looks up only to be greeted by the empty hollows surrounded by the hood of the robe. A cold shudder runs down her spine, but she ignores it.
"Please, my lord," she pleads with still more fervor and reaches a hand to the scythe bearing arm. "Please do not take my child from me! I beg of you!"
A clammy hand of bones cups the woman's chin and raises it up. "There is no need for tears," the reaper says and it wipes a tear from her eye. "For my mission is one of mercy."
"Then you are not here for my son," the woman states rather than asks.
"That is my mission," the reaper corrects her and stares with its hollow sockets upon her. "For that is the mercy I provide."
The woman is lost to the circumstance. How can taking her son be considered a mercy? She hatches upon a plot. "If a soul is wanting then take mine," she offers and extends her arms in surrender.
"Daughter," the reaper starts somberly and sets its staff securely against the floor. "Do you know what it is you ask?"
"I do," the woman insists without even taking a moment to think.
"Do you truly?" the reaper challenges and an eerie voice can be heard echoing through its bones. "For in taking your life that you might be spared loneliness, you will instead allot this misery upon your boy. As he will then have to live without you."
"Then could you not take us both," the woman presses and places a hand to her heart.
The reaper lowers its stature as a hand fetches a rolled parchment from within the folds of its robe. "This contract I have is for the possession of a single soul," it informs her and unfurls the the grave document. "To take two would void that contract."
"Why then must you take any?" the woman asks and stares deep into its hollow sockets.
"I am here to perform a mercy in the name of charity," the reaper relays its mission and leans slightly more forward. "It has been divulged that your son will come to no good end. The fever that wracks his body will soon break, but never leave his body. His days will be spent begging and his nights in a fevered ache. So I have come to call him early that he might be spared such torture."
The woman looks at the door behind her, but she doesn't see it, only the sweet, slumbering face of her dear, darling boy encircled by light. She can't fathom such a fate for her child. What merciful god would bestow such torment on so sweet a child who is barely of age? This could not be. It has to be a mistake.
"It is no mistake, nor an apprehension," the reaper breaks the stillness as though it knows her thoughts and sets a gentle, bony hand to the top of her head. "Our divination is beyond simple human understanding and so devoid of its fallacies."
The woman stands. She simply cannot align her mind with the terrible circumstance. To lose her child, even as a mercy, would leave such a hole in her life. Three children she'd already born and none of them made it any further than the midwives arms. This was her boy, her miracle child, he must live.
The woman rushes to the dying flames and leaps inside. The fire suddenly rises and consumes her flesh. "You say there is only one soul to take, then I tell you it is mine!" the woman seethes through the agonizing pain and holds her hands as through gripping bars of a prison. "For I have cast myself within the fire and am now devoid of life."
The empty hollows of the reaper's face stares. "You thought to plead with me," it begins while its cold stare followed her all the while. "This failed. So you tried to force my hand, only now you find yourself beyond my power."
The woman doesn't understand the words. She can only see the reaper open the door and advance into the dark room. She screams and claws, but the fire will not let her go. It's as though she is truly trapped.
The reaper returns, a boy cradled in its arms. "I have come as a mercy and the contract stipulates the removal of a soul from an unfit body," it addresses the soul bound to the fire while turning its head. "But yours is no longer your property and so you cannot give it to me. I'm sorry daughter, but yours is now the lonely existence." The bearer of the contract leaves the terrible scene, its prize in tow, while the woman remains resting within the fire.
Everything had been taken from here that night. Her child and her life. What could she have done? Was there any power a mortal possessed that could have changed the course of events? There was no way of knowing. The only certainty is she will spend eternity locked within the prison of the hearth, forever alone. Hers is truly the lonely existence.