In the story that I saw, life and death naturally had to have a physical form, it is just logical for a system which requires contact and interaction to build something tangible.
Life is easy, we always see it as a woman, full in hips and bust, life-birthing and earthy.
But I didn't know what death was.
Because death is an opposite, I supposed it to be male. I thought of a small boy, covered in pustules and eyes craned open unseeing the horror it wreaked.
But it wasn't quite right.
Then I tried to imagine it as a girl, winsome, innocent, wrapped in pale blue and bone white and not understanding the pain people got from what she caused to come upon them.
But again it wasn't there.
Now it is a man all clad in armor, cold-faced and duty-bound. He's red, black, white and not right.
Maybe death is a bird, like a raven, maybe it is the wind that knocks doors open in the middle of the night when nobody is there to see you breath that last breath, or beads reflecting nothing, hovering in a beautiful cloud over a body, a silent rain.
Whatever it is, I haven't found it yet.
It is a small hitch in the grand scheme of things, but a proper puzzler.
Whatever it ends up being, please bear with it.
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