“Hey! I haven't done anything so bad to deserve that! …probably!" he protested, his mind struggling to retake hold of his form. His growing panic was readily apparent despite his near perfect paralysis. Learning of the Book of Judgment, and its importance in the Final Sentence-HIS Final Sentence-had him scared for his life.

“Then you have nothing to worry about, have you?" came her nearly monotone voice, only a slight lift to betray her intent. The heavy weight of the silence lay thickly upon him. “Besides, it is not yet your time. The Book of Judgment is not to be read by those with eyes," she said, relentingly.

His gaze flickered to the book in the crook of her arm, the black tome easily wider than his own arm. It looked heavy, belying the casual strength of her gracefully elegant form. He felt relief wash over him; It was a small victory, knowing he was not about to die. …or at least, not right this moment. “Soooo, when you say that… Someone like…uhm…s-someone like you?" he asked, regretting the question almost instantly as he looked at the deep, bottomless voids where eyes should be.

The heaviness continued to settle in, a thick silence punctuated further by the growing cold. The wolf wished he could tuck his tail as the sensations transmuted to dread deep within him. “J-just an observation, I meant no offense!" he said defensively, still unsure just how much power she held. She could paralyze him with but a touch; he didn't trust she couldn't freeze him, too.

After a moment, the gentle monotony came again, “The reason the Book of Judgment is not for those with eyes is because ALL the deeds one has ever done, or will do, lie within." The pointed beak of her dry, bird-skull head loomed uncomfortably close. “You have not yet done all your deeds, have you?" she asked.

His breathing quickened despite himself, the urge to whimper barely contained as the dark, dead voids of her eyes seemed to steal away everything from him save his dread. He closed his eyes, shaking his head as he stammered, “I…I still have a lot…a lot left to do. N-nope. Not d-done y-yet."

His eyes shut tight, he could only feel the heaviness lifting before hearing her words, “We shall see. The Book of Judgment is the last thing one ever looks at before beginning the next phase of their Journey of the Worlds."

“Then I'd REALLY like to not read it, just yet. I-if its all the same to you. Not until it's the right time," he said with a nervous chuckle. He closed his eyes again, taking a few self-soothing breaths as he tried to remain calm. He searched through his mind for something – anything – to distract him from his fear.

He recalled back to why he first engaged her in the first place, opening his eyes to look her over again. His eyes traveled once more across her bare form, curved and supple and undeniably feminine. He shut his eyes tight, deciding that particular distraction might not be the best since it got him into this mess in the first place.

The female creature was quite naked by any conventional sense. The only adornments were the strange tome wrapped in some indecipherable black material, the witchy satin hat upon her head, and the terrifying bird-skull she wore as a mask. …or at least, what he'd once thought was a mask. Then again, considering her smooth, featureless curves, he supposed she hadn't much really to cover.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to her staring directly at him. Her bare cranium canted slightly in avian mischief. “The time you read it is ALWAYS the right time to," she says, straightening her body. Her hand rose, as did his body.

He felt his toes leaving the ground, and another bout of fear ran through him. He realized that she was taking him with her as she began to walk once more. “Wh-what are…where are you…" he stammered fitfully.

“Come, little wolf. Let's take a journey," she said simply, her voice almost matronly if not for its monotony.

His eyes widened, then shut tight; he desperately begged, “P-please! I like living! I-isn't there a-anything y-you want!?" He whimpered helplessly, struggling in vain to retake command of his mortal, physical coil.

She walked on, undeterred by his begging or struggles. Her left hand remained aloft, mirroring the elevation of his corpus. “A companion," she replied simply, taking a beat before clarifying, “…for a time."

Whatever hints of mischief he could discern earlier were nowhere to be found this time. His struggles eased as he began to do the only thing he really could: think. As he studied her in that moment of silence, he found her…sad? Lonely, even? Surely, he was imagining it, but still he asked, “What sort of companion…do you want?"

There was a long silence after his question, until he began to believe she hadn't heard him. She betrayed no acknowledgement he'd said anything at all. Just as he was about to repeat himself, he heard her voice again, softer than before, “You will come to understand. Eventually."

He was confused at first; the female…thing had been cryptic and vague for most of their conversation. This, however, truly confused him. He'd been a companion for many, for several different reasons. But in this moment, none of the meanings he'd associate with the word seemed to fit. “W-well, if you need a companion, is…is there any chance you can maybe let me move again? Please?"

Almost interrupting him, she replied, “I cannot. For your own safety." He went silent, swallowing hard the pit growing in his throat and chest. “Take serenity, little wolf. We have almost arrived," she said in her soothing monotony. Confused, he stared at her back for a moment, wondering where they would be arriving to.

At last, he had enough presence of mind to take in his surroundings, rather than fixating on his fear. He seemed to be in some chilling void of darkness, the cold settling on him like a blanket. As his eyes began to focus, he realized that the Crow before him-that is what he settled on to call her-was gracefully walking upon a pool of water so deep that no light would return. As still as the water was, it reflected the deep, empty black of the sky above. Only the oldest stars could still be seen, tiny pinpricks barely visible even against the dead blackness of his surroundings.

Before he could properly ponder the world around him, he could feel a presence approaching. His attention returned to the Crow, and he felt that there was some wall before them. It might have been invisible, but he was sure that it was there. His alarm returned as the Crow stepped through the wall, disappearing before his eyes. His panic rose, the inability to move, the dark loneliness, and the looming wall of the unknown too much for him to handle all at once. He tightened his eyes and felt stiff plastic stretch against his body like wrap over a dish of food.

When he opened his eyes again, it was to a fell light. He was in a warehouse. Ragged mattresses littered the floor. He could hear crying and the distant sound of sirens. Lights of harsh, competing colors flashed around him. Uniformed men stood or moved languidly around him. Their hard faces inspected hidden details or conversed animatedly in groups.

When he spotted her again, she was standing and looking down. His gaze followed her own, and he could see below her was a body. A young woman lay on a blood-soaked mattress, appearing to have been brutally murdered. He stared in horror, his throat tightening and shocks of electricity rolling through him. “Good fucking gods~" he whispered harshly, unable to hold back the turning of his stomach or the awful scene before him.

The Crow said nothing, instead kneeling to gently take the dead woman's hand. As she stood again, he was alarmed to see that the woman stood with her. Harsh breath filled the dead woman's lungs, and she looked at the Crow and him. Terror took her face, as if she were even more overcome by the moment than he was.

The Crow spoke again, this time to the woman, “Be at peace, for your Judgment is at hand. What happens now is beyond your control, and it is quite inescapable. Your choices have been made, and your life is finally spent. Take a moment to come to terms, and then I will show you the Final Sentence."

He could only stare, his mouth dry and his throat constricted. He wanted to say something, anything at all. Perhaps some sort of condolence for the unfortunate woman and her passing. Such an apparently brutal passing, no less. But what could he even say to one who had suffered such an apparently horrible end? Her corpse still lay beneath them, bruised, bloodied, and broken. His stomach turned as he thought of what horrible person could do such a thing to anyone, let alone this slip of a woman.

He looked up again to see her go through a series of complicated emotions. Some were familiar, but others were alien to him. As he gave up trying to decipher her, he realized that the world was…dimming? Things were slowing down around them, as if the world were a projection slowly dying off. He could feel a looming darkness begin to radiate off the woman and from the book. The two seemed to resonate, rhythmic pulses intensifying off the two of them.

He blinked several times, wondering if there was some kind of trick or weird showmanship. But he could still feel it, even with his eyes closed; something strange was happening, strange even compared to his already strange little journey. He could feel something…anger and hate. Yes, that was what he could feel coming off the woman and the book. While he wanted to cower from it, he also felt it made sense. Who wouldn't be angry and hateful at being murdered so horribly? She had every right to her anger, and maybe the book was agreeing with her in some strange, alien fashion.

The world around them had come to a complete standstill, shadows coating everything like a splash of paint. The woman seemed to have come to some sort of conclusion, some reckoning with her situation. At the very least, she had settled on an emotion: deep, smoldering bitterness. It was as though he were feeling it himself, but only with his skin rather than from within.

“The Book of Judgment," said the Crow without warning, her nondescript body stiffening like a statue as she raised the book up. A wind rose, rapidly building until the book was forced to open. Pages began to flutter between the Book's opened covers. He wanted to ask what was happening, to ask what was going on. But part of him felt he knew the answer already. As the book rapidly fluttered in the howling wind, he remembered the old saying about how ones life would flash before their eyes at the end.

He realized he could kind of see inside the book from where he was. It was near impossible to make out any details from his angle and distance, especially with the pages rattling loudly and quickly as they were. But as he continued to stare at it, he noticed a pattern begin to emerge. He couldn't move to look closer, but he strained to focus upon it. It seemed like a flipbook, almost. There was something there he couldn't quite grasp, but it was definitely there.

As those pages fluttered louder and faster, he could see something familiar taking shape. Lines seemed to grow, seeds crystallizing into symbols. A single word came to clarity, and a chilling iciness spiked his heart as he realized what it was: his name. His chest felt tight, and panic hit him once more as he began to obsess over what he was seeing, and why his name could be seen within the book. Why now, of all times!? Wasn't this moment supposed to be about the woman? Why him?

As his confusion and panic built rapidly, the book boomed loudly as if someone had slammed it on a stone table. The fluttering had come to a sudden stop, flattened pages that seemed to orient on their own towards the woman. He could no longer see the inside of the book from his angle. The Crow's voice came once more, far harder and formal than before. “See herein your Final Sentence. You have seen your deeds. You know what you have done. You know what you have earned. The Judgment…is final," she proclaimed.

A sudden howling rage screamed from the woman, and she leaped at the Crow. Her body…or perhaps her ghost? She suddenly flashed and pulsed, mutating before his eyes into a shade of her former self. He struggled to understand what he was watching happening, but a stroke of familiarity touched him. She was becoming a banshee. A final scream rocked his ears, and he covered them in terror before the woman suddenly vanished from sight.

All went dark again. It was still, quiet, and dark as before. He realized he was standing in the Void again; that's what he had chosen to call the dark place. He was still shaken and afraid, but he managed to breathe deeply and swallow down his anxieties. His voice croaked as he asked, “Just…what the hell just happened?"

The Crow stood straight again, the book seeming to close on its own and cradle itself into the crook of her arm. It almost seemed to have a mind of its own, like a bird nestling in its nest in a storm. Her head audibly cracked into position, staring at him as she answered, “Judgment."

The word echoed in his ears for a moment, as if trying to break its way into a mind that would not accept it. “How could...how could that be fair? How was that judgment!? The way things happened, the way she had been so brutally murdered…how is this fair!?" he howled out in disbelief.

“How is what fair?" she asked calmly, slowly beginning to approach him. Her nondescript confidence cowed him, and he remembered how much power she seemed to have over him.

He swallowed hard again before answering, “H-how it ended for her. She…" He shook his head as he tried to form the right words. “I…I saw she…she was murdered, right? So horribly murdered. And yet for that she…she was turned into a…into that…THING." He stiffened and pressed again, “It doesn't seem right. Such a horrible judgment for such a horrible end doesn't seem fair."

A gentle, cold hand settled upon his cheek. The Crow had no eyes, but he could tell she was staring at him. It was a frightening visage, and yet he felt as though he was looking into his mother's eyes after waking from a nightmare. “How old do you think she was?" she asked cooly.

He was taken aback by the question. “How old was-“ he started, realizing he had no idea. She was clearly a woman, rather than a girl. But…teens? Middle-aged? Elderly? For some reason, he could not be sure. No age came to mind at all.

He could feel her softening, even if her visage was hard and stiff as bone; considering she appeared to be wearing the skull of a crow, it likely was. “How do you think the last few moments of her life compares to her life in its entirety?" she asked.

He was still and silent, unable to answer that question. Her end was certainly terrible, but…how would that compare against every bad thing she might have ever done? Would it excuse it? What if she had died that way BECAUSE of the terrible things she had done? He couldn't quite look the Crow in the eye, his gaze falling.

He looked at her closer than he'd had the chance to before. He came to a surprise realization. Her body was remarkably smooth and featureless. He knew her form well, and she was as clean kept as one possibly could. Moreover, her belly was rounded. She didn't appear to be fat, not really. Was she perhaps-

“The Final Sentence is the conclusion of one's WHOLE life, little wolf. It is what is earned. Judgment must be blind," she said, her words disrupting his thoughts.

He looked up to her face again, confused at how such a ghastly figure could also appear to be quite heavily pregnant. Amid his confusion, a thought crystallized. “Only those without eyes can read the book," he said, recalling what she had said before. While he was still a bit baffled that she suddenly appeared pregnant—he had tried copping a feel of her earlier and she didn't look this way then—there appeared to be far more pressing matters at hand.

“The Book of Judgment is not for those with eyes. To read it is the last act before the next phase of one's Journey of the Worlds," she said, nodding in acknowledgment of his learning. Things began to make a certain sense to him, a sort of cryptic reality that had begun to take shape. His thoughts drifted back to her belly, and whether he had merely overlooked it or whether she had perhaps not always been so gravid.

“Let us continue our journey," she said, turning away from him and beginning to walk. She had such an elegance to her, a macabre grace that seemed to touch every inch of her and every action. He realized suddenly that he could move again, unsure of how long he had been free to do so. He followed.

His mind continued trying to comprehend where he was, and the woman he was with. Her grace, serenity, and macabre. The way she looked so heavily pregnant, and yet otherwise completely featureless. The minimal efficiency of her moments, as though only the most necessary movements were allowed. He looked down and asked, “Where to next?"

Her head turned slightly in regard, “Our next Judgment, of course." The two stepped with surety despite the nearly imperceptible surface beneath their feet. As he looked at the glassy surface of the pool beneath his feet, he wondered what the right word would be. “Pool?" No, certainly not; “sea" or even “ocean" was more accurate. Little ripples, almost indistinguishable, echoed from each step. Almost. There was a strange peace to the stillness around him, as if he was walking in the blackest of paintings.

“Whatever you do, don't look down long," she said, snapping him to attention. He decided it might not be safe to dwell on his surroundings. Instead, he focused on her. Admittedly, he found that both easy and difficult at the same time.

“Uh, not to be rude but…is there any chance you could, y'know…?" His hand gestured towards her body, very undressed body, as he tried to not say something stupid, rude, or insulting.

Her head took a very avian cant. “That I could what? Don a skirt of leaves and do the hula?" she asked.

His jaw dropped slightly, the sudden humor (or sarcasm?) catching him quite off guard. “I uh…I…Uhm. M-maybe not like that," he replied sheepishly. He scratched his head and explained, “It's just distracting is all. M-maybe a robe or something…?" He muttered to himself for a moment, feeling like an idiot.

“We walk atop the Deepest. Wherever they go, whatever they do, all the darkest Journeys pass through its depths. Dark Journeys touched by dark Judgments. And when you stare long into the abyss, the abyss stares also into you," she said to him, seemingly ignoring his protest.

He decided to just ignore her state of undress for now, focusing on her words. “So…if I stare long enough, I'll see everything that's happened like…like what happened with that woman. Or worse," he said, trying to indicate his understanding.

The Crow didn't respond at first. Just when he thought she'd say nothing, she said, “Also that there's not exactly a good place to stop in and see a tailor."

His brow raised at that, and a smile curled across his face as he realized that she was teasing him a little. Without a word, he undid his own button-up, shucking it and placing it over her shoulders. “Here. It's not much but…it ought to help a little, maybe?" he offered. The Crow said nothing about it, and his discomfort now began to become a pit in his belly.

He tried to think of anything to say to break the uncomfortable silence, but everything seemed inappropriate in the moment. Everything seemed rude or like it might give off the appearance that he was a pervert. “So, uh-“ he started to say.

“Thank you," she said simply, interrupting him. He closed his mouth silently, then placed a hand on her shoulder, giving a gentle rub before pulling away again. “We're here," she announced, moments before that familiar feeling like plastic wrap was trying to cocoon him like a spider.

The sun was setting over the horizon. They stood in a wide alleyway; one side was a brick wall, and the other a wall of corrugated steel. It was quiet except for some birds in the distance. Low calls echoed past his hears, and distant hissing of steam tickled as well. Noone appeared to be around this time. Their only companion was a broken body on the tar and gravel pavement. A revolver lay haphazardly next to him—it—and a pool of blood bloomed on the ground. It didn't take an expert to guess he'd shot himself.

He took a moment to come to terms with the new sights and sounds, and the grim display before him. He grimaced at the sight; it might not have been as gruesome as the last scene, but it was still hard to see. He looked over to his companion as she stepped through the pool of blood, turning his stomach a bit. Blood sullied her feet, sticking to her with unsettling sticky sounds. No footprints lay behind her, but still her feet were stained.

She leaned down and lifted the dead man to his feet, an eerie echo to the woman from last time. The man began to blink and hyperventilate, panicking. The “little wolf" decided to stay off to the side and watch, despite being able to move and likely interact this time. He didn't want to interrupt such a grim duty as hers. Perhaps he did not want to. Perhaps he felt he had no right to.

As if chanting a spell, she repeated what she had said last time. “Be at peace, for your Judgment is at hand. What happens now is beyond your control, and it is quite inescapable. Your choices have been made, and your life is finally spent. Take a moment to come to terms, and then I will show you the Final Sentence."

This man went through a complicated band of emotions, not unlike the woman they'd seen before. Unlike last time, however, he didn't take long. The man dropped to his knees, sobbing heavily and deeply. His body was wracked with the emotional pain pouring out of him. The Crow stood silently over him for several minutes, silently letting him come to terms. “What…what is to become of my people…?"

A soft blueness began to resonate off of the man and from the Book, strongly contrasting the bitter, tarry blackness from before. He watched the scene before him, recognizing this to be a deep, drowning sadness. Worry. For himself? No…this for his people, those he'd left behind.

“I cannot say. That is no longer your concern, nor do I know. The matters of the living are not for the dead to dwell upon. Your life is spent, and all that remains for you…is the Book of Judgment," she answered the man. She brought up the book again, and the wind began to howl and flip open the book just like last time. Pages fluttered and rattled, the man's eyes widening as he stared at it.

He closed his eyes, turning away from the book and instead towards the freshly dead man. He watched as emotions twisted and shifted on the man's face while watching those rattling pages. He's not sure if he could peek at the book again…or if he even wanted to. Not, at least, until it was his time and the choice no longer his.

The rattling pages began shaping patterns, only barely visible in his periphery as he focused on the man. Suddenly, that stoney, heavy CLAP as the Book settled again. “See herein your Final Sentence. You have seen your deeds. You know what you have done. You know what you have earned. The Judgment…is final."

To the “little wolf"s surprise, the man smiled. It was a bittersweet smile, to be sure, but there it was. He watched as the man leaned in and silently hugged the Crow, sobbing there for a moment as he slowly faded away into nothingness before her. He could still hear birds in a distance, low harsh calls echoing on the wind.

The scene was chilling. Peaceful, but depressing. He approached the Crow, unsure of how to react to the moment. He was not appalled like last time. Perhaps because he'd seen it once already, or something else. He could only feel a strange sense of acceptance, if anything.

“His…next phase will be…harsh," she said, standing still with the book nestling back into the crook of her arm again. The darkness returned, the two back in the Void. But she still stood stiff and unmoving. He was taken aback by her reaction; the woman's Judgment had seemed almost rote to the Crow, but she somehow seemed far more affected by this one.

“Harsh as in…why…why Harsh? Does that mean he's…" he started to ask, unsure of how to word his thoughts, or even how to direct them. A few thoughts came to mind, stories from his past.

“His greatest crime was giving up," she said with a certain harshness. “His next phase will…it will be rough. Grueling. A tempering that will either forge his soul into something shining and great…or crack, char, and destroy it," she said.

He pondered her words, considering the weight and meaning. “It's...it's harsh because it depends on him. And since he already gave up once…" he murmured. He somehow understood the difficulties the man would face, and sighed with the grim acceptance of one who can do nothing to change things.

“As to his people, I really cannot say. I do not know. …but I can guess. They will suffer," she said. He stood a little straighter, finding her comments unexpected. He hadn't asked. “They will suffer because he is not there. They will suffer because he cannot now answer for his mistakes in that life. He cannot make right by them. …and so, they will suffer," she explained.

He was speechless. What could he say about such a thing? “So…it's harsh all around, isn't it?" he muttered to himself.

“What do you think about the Journey of the Worlds?" she suddenly asked him, her boney, eyeless face turning towards him.

He thought carefully for a moment before saying, “It's…something." He took a beat before continuing, “I mean, it's seeing how people's lives end, seeing a glimpse of their final judgment and…it's difficult to look at even as a bystander." He sighed sadly and turned to look her in the…skull? “I can't imagine ho difficult it must be for the person who has to do this all the time," he said.

“The Journey of the Worlds is undertaken by each and every one of us," she corrected him. “It is the process by which our souls are molded, forged, cracked, bonded, rise, and fall," she explained, as if reading from a manual. “Each new phase is appropriate to the last. Those who committed horrors to be punished for the damage inflicted on others. Those who have failed others to be given trials to test and strengthen the temper of their soul," she continued.

He absorbed her words, eyes widening as he realized that there was a whole system here. She continued on without waiting for his response, “Eventually, the Journey tends to stabilize, and the soul loses its coherency; its energy falls away, back into the aether. Eventually, it will coalesce into a new soul. …or…many new souls, perhaps. The final stages may be happy. Or they may be horrifying. Or perhaps they will be dull, uneventful, and meaningless." She sighed, “They might face the worst fate of all: total dissolution. Annihilation."

He nodded along with her explanation. “So…rather than a final Journey, it could…it could also be considered a new beginning from another angle. But…I guess, it could also be the final Journey of all. For…for real the final Journey," he said, the unsettling idea shaking him. Her beak dipped in acknowledgement. He put an arm around her, thinking again how hard it must be to be the one at the gateway.

She stood there for a while, unmoving. After a silence, she asked, “Tell me. What do you think about the Judge?"

He looked at her curiously, considering the question. “What do you mean? The...the Book, or do you mean you?"

She clarified, “The book is the Book of Judgment. I am the Judge."

He thought for a moment, then said, “From what I can see? She's diligent in her duty. She sees to it, no matter what end she'll witness, or the fate the souls end up with." He smiles bitterly before continuing, “But…I think she's lonely. She interacts with all these people. All their stories. But the moments are…fleeting. Brief. Its not like right now where we can stand here and talk about it." He took a breath before concluding, “I could certainly understand why she'd want a companion. Even if just a short while."

She touched him again, resting her hand upon his arm. But eventually it drops away once more. She opens the Book, beginning to leaf through the pages. He watched her, focused on her face. Perhaps he thought that if he studied her bone-hard expression closely enough, he could see her thoughts. He reached out and took hold of her hand.

She halted, freezing in place for a moment. The Book still open, she turned toward him. His fingers gently caressed her hand, feeling how perfectly smooth she felt. It was almost as though there were no texture at all there. He ignored the Book, staring at her instead. She silently stood there, empty voids in her eyes staring back at him wordlessly. Only the slightest flicker in her body signaled life.

He grinned, “So there IS life in there." He teased her, gently gripping her hand and pulling her a little closer to settle his other hand on her waist.

She became stiff again, and her only response was another question. “What do you think about the Judge?" she asked once more.

His hand gripped her waist a little more firmly, pulling her form in against his. The hand holding hers moved to her cheek, gently rubbing against the boney surface. It was…surprisingly dry and…flakey? It seemed almost to be peeling. She somehow seemed even older than he'd presumed. “I think the Judge is a lonely woman," he said to her.

She asked him, “Do you think it was always this way? Always will be?" The monotony of her voice had broken somewhat, and she sounded for the first time as a woman in need of comfort.

“No. No I don't think so," he answered, his fingers brushing her cheek comfortingly as he began to really see her. “I think…maybe she'll feel lonely for some times. But not always or forever," he said soothingly. His heart throbbed for a moment, as he felt like he needed to care for her.

“You're righter than you know," she said, the Crow pulling away without warning. “I told you once…the Book of Judgment is the last thing one sees before beginning the next phase of their Journey of the Worlds. I'll ask you one more time…what do you think about the Judge?"

The question unsettled him a little, and he was once again aware that he was standing the Void, standing on the Deepest. Those old, dead stars still overhead, clinging to…something. He thought about her words for a moment, and everything he'd seen so far.

It all came to him at last as he realized while he spoke, “I think the Judge is someone facing their final Journey, or the result of it. I think the Judge was a woman once, who lived her life. And…and when it finally came time for her to read the book, it decided that THIS was to be her final fate." He felt pleased with himself, as though he suddenly understood everything.

There was a loud crack, and an echo as if the heavens themselves shook with the weight of it. He suddenly felt his bones freeze over, going stone still as if afraid he'd given the wrong answer. Then a new realization settled upon him: he hadn't been wrong, but rather only too right. Then a new horror dawned: he couldn't move again.

The stars overhead began pulsating. Colors began to break free of them, circulating between and around those distant pinpricks. A strange redness settled over everything, as if coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. He could no longer feel the glass of the Deepest beneath his feet, realizing he'd been lifted once more. He looked around and then down as a moaning rose to fill the Void, realizing it came from beneath.

“I warned you once: Do not look long into the Deepest," she said to him with an urgency. As the moaning and redness rose, he heard her say, “You were right as to why…but not why it matters. Never look down. You will be forced to face all the judgments you've ever given. All the pain. All the punishment. All the anger, terror, horror, and despair."

His face twisted with confusion and growing dread. A pit deep in his stomach grew, seeming to fill more and more of his body. “All of it will come rushing back to you. The longer you serve…the worse it will be. It was not a threat…it was a warning," she said.

“Then why did you keep asking me!?" he challenged her, trying in vain to fight the paralysis. “What…What the hell were you hoping to accomplish!?" he questioned accusingly.

As the moaning continued to rise, the wind howled up once more. The Crow's arms shot straight out to either side of her as she rose, as if she were being suspended by them. The skull cracked loudly down the middle, beginning to crumble from within. As it fell away, he could see the face of the woman from beneath it. Her eyes finally open, he could see bright white pin-pricks seated in the deepest black imaginable.

His attention was stolen away as he heard the loud rattling once more. Pages on pages fluttering in the opened Book of Judgment. His stomach fell out as realization hit him. “You…you were trying to escape it…You wanted me to…to figure it out! To set you free! DIDN'T YOU!?" he howled in enraged accusation.

“The Book of Judgment shows all one's deeds. Past…present…and future. All deeds." She said simply.

He growled and glared at her, “Let me guess. It saw me freeing you from this, didn't it!? You were just waiting for ME to figure it out!" He groaned with strain as he fought to free himself from his fate. The Book continued to rattle, completely leaving her hands as it faced and approached him. The crystallizing pattern showed once more, rapidly forming his name this time.

“It was never up to me…" she said, sounding bitter and broken for a moment. The words on the page dissolved away. He started to see words form on the page. Things he'd said and actions he'd done. Old, almost forgotten things at first, but then soon more and more recent events. People hurt and helped. Women loved and lost. However, something else began to loom on the rattling pages.

“You said it yourself earlier: It all depended on him. Or in this case, you," she said, as large, page-sized words began to form. He finally understood. The Book wasn't written in stone. The past might be set, but not the present nor the future. They could be changed. I didn't have to come to this. As this truth hits him, he felt that grim acceptance return. “It all depends on me, doesn't it. Just like what I'm about to do now," he says.

As if he had jumped through a window, the sound of shattering glass filled the Void. He broke free of his paralysis as if breaking a twig with both hands. He reached forth and grabbed the Book for himself, fully accepting what came next. What must have come next. In the last few seconds, as time slowed like one circling a black hole, the words on the page became as clear as day. The Final Sentence was as obvious as gravity. “JUSTICE. IS. BLIND." Written in deep, manic pencil scratches.

The Book came ever closer, ever more detailed, and he realized that the words were written in sentences, not pencil marks. “Justice is blind." repeated an impossible number of times to form the larger words. And then it hit him.

Everything went dark. The only sound he could clearly hear was the sound of calcification as the skull formed around his head like a mask. Creaking and crackling, black as the deepest night. He had known this would happen; somehow, he had known. He didn't flinch or falter as it formed, trapping his head and shaping itself into the form of a wolf's skull. His clothes seemed to disintegrate, threads unraveling and peeling away only to dissolve into nothing.

He felt odd. Strange, but powerful. Heavily so, as if he could move mountains if he chose but moving his own arm held a weight to it. He could feel the Book hovering around him, as clearly as if he could see it. He could not see, but somehow it didn't matter. He stood over the woman, feeling his senses become sharp again. He heard the thud, the heavy sound of a body collapsing. Then, the soft lapping of water against something.

He knew suddenly that she was sinking. He could hear her gasping for breath, sounding like a normal person for the first time since he'd met her. As he turned towards her, his head was pierced with blinding pain. Flashes of events rolled past his mind.

A little girl running with a pinwheel in her hand. A first kiss. Yelling at her parents with hot, red cheeks and tears in her eyes. “That's not fair!" Arguments, so many arguments. A courtroom. More yelling. More arguments. A man in glasses. Her hand on her pregnant belly. The man again, weathered, arguing with her. The man again, lying dead on the floor. Looking down from the top of the stairs. The stairs rushing up to meet her as she falls. The darkest of eyes. THE BOOK.

It passed as quickly as he came. As if by reflex, he lifted her with a simple flick of his hand to keep her from sinking. He had seen it all. The good…the bad…the happy, the painful…the end. And what came after the end. Sadness and pity overtook him. Maybe he was still too much himself. But he still felt for her plight.

“You're not done yet, I think," his voice came. He'd meant it to be warmer than it came out. He'd likely never speak with emotion again. He looked down at the Book. “I am…the Judge. I've seen your beginning, and I've seen your end," he proclaimed. He tapped the book, and the pages flickered gently. “This tells what came after the end. You don't deserve to sink," he said, wishing that he could share his compassion with her still.

She smiled, even knowing he'd never be able to see it. Peaceful acceptance rolled over her limp form, more visible to him than any smile. She coughed suddenly, gasping for breath. “D-don't…don't ever…don't look down. Don't ever…ever look…N-never look…down," she managed to cough out in her ever-weakening voice. A rattle broke from her throat, slowly dying off to nothing. And then, he was alone in total silence.

Somehow, the silence was worse than the darkness. Oppressive. Constricting. He felt it was difficult to breathe. As he stood there, he began to feel an itch. It was as if something were calling to him, pulling him in a specific direction. He felt a restless energy coming from the Book. After a moment, he realized it was pulling him to her. He decided to trust the Book.

He could see her, after a fashion: a soul needing to be released and set free. A body needing to be unburdened and returned to the world of the living. Both of them still. Trapped. He took her hand in his, feeling what needed to be done in his very bones. He pulled her into an embrace, holding her tightly against him. Cold as he was then, the feeling was warm as ever. He filled her up with it, feeling his own warmth ebb.

Her soul seemed to sing to him. Singing with the full vibrance of life and…relief. She was tired. So very, very tired. Very sad. Very angry. But beyond it all, ready to move on. She embraced him back, in her own way, the warmth radiating off her. Somewhere above, he knew one of the dark stars flared out forever. “You know what to do," she said reassuringly, the last words she'd ever speak.

The hug intensified and then subsided. He wasn't sure if it was him or her. All he knew was that she was gone now. He released her at last, letting her go where she needed to go. He still felt it harsh, in a way. But he knew that it was not final. Not for her. No; one day he'll see her again…hopefully this time with a better outcome.

But where she once was here, hugging together with him, now she was gone. He was alone. So very alone in the Void. No sight, no sound. Only the itch of a new soul needing to be delivered and Judged. He regarded the Book for a moment, holding it gently and carefully. What he once feared, he now understood. And because he understood, he was responsible. So, he followed the itch.