“Look upon me and despair, for I am Death, destroyer of worlds.” – Robert Oppenhimer

PROLOGUE

Father abandoned child, wife husband, one brother another, for this illness seemed to strike through the breath and sight. And so they died, by the hundreds both day and night. And there was no one who wept for any death, for all awaited death. And so many died that they believed it was the end of the world…

Such is that they wrote of me. Journals filled with stories of infected bodies burning in the streets; of dogs dragging forth remains from common graves; of art turned to dancing skeletons and flesh turned to black. So many horrible things from those centuries ago when man imagined that my virulent presence was a punishment sent from their god. No punishment sent by anyone’s god am I; no slave to any, but myself. Just another shadow at the entrance to a dark alleyway, an empty husk coaxing fever and weakness into the blood, blistering and bruising the skin as I please. Woe to me, for I cast death, but none will know, and man shall go on blaming their gods for their misery, for the victims take my face with them to their graves.

Misery… In eight and seventy years I have learned well the meaning of that word and many others, which had until that time held no meaning for me. In the past, though I could examine the people as they passed me by, with mouths turned up at the corners or brows knitted; though I could perceive sound when they spoke, voices crooning or growling, I had ever failed to see what gave to them what I did not have… A heart, perhaps? But even something so old as I can still be taught. Something so consistent can still change, and it is in change that we find purpose.

Come. Sit down, and I will tell you my tale.