A thought's breadth away, a woman of perfect absolutes stood in a field of death.

Corpses lay at her feet, decapitated and dismembered and bloody, their faces contorted in pain and accusation, in horror as they finally realized the futility. No red stained the terrifying blanched purity of her robes, the rich darkness of her skin; she, the Reaper, the bringer of war and plague, the taker of souls – She, Lady Death, was untouched by what She wrought –

And she stretched forth a black hand, an arm draped with whitest death, and with a gently merciless smile called –

"Hey, Kris? Did you leave for school yet?"

Kris opened a bleary eye, and three things struck her: first, a terrible headache, then a miserable heat, and then what time the clock was reading.

She rolled onto her back and tried to heave herself out of bed, collapsing back when the strain proved too much for her head. She rested a moment until the pain went down, then rolled over until she fell heavily onto the floor. It took several moments before her blind casting about produced a bottle, which she quickly drained.

The bed provided a suitable backrest as the familiar sick, numb feeling seized first her stomach, then drained fuzzily up toward her head. Her pain didn't lessen, exactly – it just didn't matter. She was able to stand up then, and forged off to the bathroom, which she used to heave up whatever she had eaten the previous night.

Two painkillers and some cold water later, she made her shaky way down the precarious steps into the living room. Her aunt took up the only good chair in the room, cold leftover pizza perched on her long fingers, staring intently at the static-ridden television screen.

"So you are still here," Aunt Melinda commented without looking up. Kris grunted. "What time is it?"

"About ten-thirty."

"So I probably should have gotten you up earlier."

"Probably, yeah."

"Have you been drinking?"

"Shouldn't you be writing your final?"

"I've got tenure. Besides, I can't miss this."

"What is it?"

"Memorial service. It's been – what – six months."

"Since what?"

Finally, Melinda tore her gaze from the solemn procession across the screen. "Since Senator Marx was killed, of course."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Just don't do it again," her aunt responded, punctuating the admonition by tearing a chunk out of the pizza. Kris was sure she was kidding. Pretty sure, in any case. It really was kind of hard to tell.

After looking in the refrigerator, Kris decided to forgo breakfast and merely poured herself a glass of apple juice. She stood behind her aunt as she drank, staring bemusedly at the screen. Some people had soap operas or movies; Aunt Melinda was engrossed in the world of politics. She cared less about what she was supposed to teach at the local community college than the scandals and the dirty underside of public office. She could have gone far in politics, had she actually focused on having a career there – she was brilliant, with an incredible memory and astounding intuition. Instead, she had merely watched others' spirals into scummy disrepute with a creepy sort of alacrity.

Kris set the drained glass down in the sink next to the empty pizza box and slung her backpack, left at the foot of the stairs, onto her back. Her aunt looked up again; it was a commercial break. "Did you miss any classes?"

"Final for science."

"The one you were failing?"

"Yeah. That one. The test was my last hope for not having to retake the class."

Her aunt grunted. "Summer school never hurt anyone. 'Sides, not as if you have anything else to do. Wish you would apply yourself, though."

"You know, that's really become a tiresome sentiment," Kris snapped irritably, and wrenched the door open. "I'll see you this afternoon."

"So, have you been drinking?"

It was less the question itself than the sheer, painful disinterest with which it was asked that bothered Kris. She strode out without even replying.

School was unfortunately close. While it was certainly convenient whenever she needed to get there quickly, her house had been the target of eggings and toilet paperings for the last four years running. It had really stopped fazing her; she didn't expect anything else from the low-browed imbeciles that populated her school.

It was not, however, utterly disadvantageous on a day like this to be so close. The air was heavy, bitter; the temperature was already well into the nineties, an ill omen for the rest of the day. There was nothing Kris loathed more than hot weather.

But...The atmosphere was unaccountably tense, even for finals week, even for the heat. If Kris had believed in psychics and prophesies and the like, she would have said that it was some buried sense telling her that something was coming, but she didn't, so she wouldn't. There was nevertheless an anticipation that made her jumpy and a bit sick.

She felt a wave of satisfaction as she saw that there was no one but the isolated figure in the schoolyard. Classes hadn't been let out yet, then, or the next one had already started. Either way, she didn't have to face anyone until her next class. Granted, that would be miserable, but it was an unavoidable misery. On the other hand, meeting him in the halls –

"Cutting class, Kristina dearest?"

Her lips tightened as she glanced over at Nich. She had missed him, half-concealed by the thick walkway cover support as he was, but now that he blocked her way, it was impossible not to pay attention. That was Nich's natural state of being – self-important, vain, arrogant, and justified.

"Cutting class, Nich dearest?" she mimicked. He laughed and brushed a lock of immaculate, golden hair from his beautiful face. His wise, deep blue eyes held the cruel humor he reserved particularly for her.

"Only so I can spend more quality time with you, my love," he said with all appearances of sincerity.

"Flattered, I'm sure," she said, pushing her way past him. Someone seized her wrist, and she glared up into the face of one of Nich's devoted cronies. She grabbed his elbow and twisted his arm so that he released her, hissing a curse. She spat at his feet and turned to Nich.

"The hell do you want?"

"Your everlasting love."

"Fuck you."

"Oooh," Nich snickered. "She's feisty." He took a step closer to her, a mocking malice in his eyes. "Oh, why won't you return my love, my darling? You're ripping my heart from my chest..."

"I'm not going to sink to your level, Lucas."

"I mean, you may not be very...pretty," he expanded, looking her over with contempt and a sneer, "or bright, for that matter, and you may be a loser bitch with no friends and no life..." He took another step and raked his hands through her hair in a blatantly sensual gesture. "But don't worry, Kristina dear," he breathed. "I love you."

She jerked her head away and caught him by the wrist, bending it back savagely. He grunted, half in pain and half surprise, and fell to one knee trying to get his arm back into a less painful position. She shoved him away, and he sprawled on the ground.

"If you ever touch me again, you worthless, petty piece of horse shit, I swear to god, I'll cut off your fingers and feed them back to you," she hissed. He gaped at her, his limpid eyes shocked. She was fairly surprised herself. She never initiated violence.

Nich's thug caught her by the shoulder just as the bell rang. An inundation of teenagers stormed around them, and the heavy boy's grip loosened, obviously torn between revenge and the dire possibility of getting in trouble for fighting. He looked over at Nich, who had stood and was in the process of brushing himself off. Kris braced herself for the inevitable blow.

"Come on," Nich said after a moment's pause, then turned and walked off. The thug hesitated again, then dropped his hand and waddled after his brain. Kris watched them leave, scanned the crowd to make sure that no more of Nich's muscle was around, and forced her way through the stream.

The school's exterior burned with the heat; the interior sweltered. Rather than the usual clumps of happily chattering children holding up the traffic through the halls, the isolated student was slumped on the floor or against a locker, trying to capture the least bit of chill from their surroundings. More, however, had opted to go outside. She saw through a warped and dirty window the parking lot, shimmering with heat, crowded with people. They were probably all trying to take in as much air conditioning from their cars as they could before having to once again be crammed into the sweaty, airless classrooms once again.

Kris ignored the rising shouts coming from her left as she opened her locker and pulled out her books. By the time she slammed the door shut, the argument had escalated into a full-blown fight. She stared at the two boys and the ring of enthused onlookers wearily, then turned away. She quite frankly couldn't understand where they got the energy.

Once she reached her English class, rather than going inside, she leaned her forehead against the tile of the wall. The air had heated it to the point that it didn't channel any heat away from her skin. She splashed a bit of water onto her face from the nearby fountain, but couldn't bring herself to drink. It smelled fouler than usual.

Her teacher stood behind the table that stood at the front of the room, head bowed, looking rather akin to one contemplating going into a completely hopeless battle. He looked up as he heard her footstep and gave her a shaky smile that held more than a tinge of desperate madness.

"Nice...day, isn't it?" he asked vaguely, drawing a hand across his broad, pink forehead.

"Um, yeah," Kris answered, dumping her books on her desk and dropping her backpack with a sigh of relief. "Nice..."

"Last day of this class," he said, and the relief in his smile was almost heartbreaking.

"Yeah. I'm looking forward to summer vacation," she offered.

"Oh, yes! Yes! Definitely," he laughed. "I was thinking I'd – " He stopped as the bell rang once again, clenching his jaw. "Well," he sighed, and collapsed back into his chair with what might have been another laugh or a sob. "Well."

The first few who filtered into the classroom either didn't even glace at Kris or gave her vague looks of disgust. Most were holding conversations not even worth eavesdropping upon – discussions of sports, or make-up, or boys, or girls, or any other number of conversations she couldn't possibly have cared less about. One, however, caught her attention –

"...been going around saying that she – " the only "she" who was granted such a pointed tone was Kris herself – "actually attacked Nich!"

There were shocked gasps all around. Kris rolled her eyes. They actually thought she couldn't figure out who they were gossiping about. Still, she was glad summer vacation was only two days away. She didn't really fancy facing the female population outraged over her treatment of their one true love.

Speaking of which –

Nich walked in, followed closely by a different muscle-bound admirer, and took a seat two rows in front of Kris. She was surprised to see that he didn't seem to be making a great deal of fuss over his injured wrist as he languidly stretched out in his seat.

The problem with Nich, really, was that he was so damned perfect. Incredibly beautiful, brilliant, and charming – really, his only flaw was that he was a cruel, sadistic bastard who would rip the wings off a butterfly to see it writhe. His butterfly of choice was Kris. He actively went out of his way to make her miserable.

Of course, "butterfly" perhaps wasn't the best metaphor. There was no beauty or delicacy or refinement in Kris, and she liked it that way. Certainly, butterflies were pretty enough to look at, but the fact of the matter was that they died quite easily.

In any case, Nich could – and did – make her miserable. He had sort of a cult following him, admiring and lauding his every action. The boys admired his quick, cruel imagination, the girls his beauty and charm. Their fawning over him verged on disgusting.

The bell signaling the start of class sounded, and Mr. Cromwell pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly. The poor man looked like he was about to collapse.

"Now," he said, his rough voice barely audible over the clamor of the class, "we're going to need to present – excuse me. Excuse me! Quiet down!" They did no such thing, but he pretended as if he wasn't completely without power in his own classroom. "We're going to present our projects. Are there any volunteers?" None were forthcoming, and Kris could see that he was about to break down into tears. She stood up, hesitant though she was to draw attention to herself.

"I'll just – I'll do it," she said, and several of the other students made kissing noises at her. Cromwell shot her a gratified look.

She remembered belatedly as she walked to the head of the room that she hadn't done the project. Well, it wouldn't be the first time she had improvised a presentation, and it wouldn't be the last, in all likelihood. If only she could remember the topic –

A carelessly elegant foot thrust itself in her way; she normally spotted those things, but she was concentrating on her speech to come that she had missed it. She fell heavily, scraping her hands on the rough, filthy carpet, the wind knocked from her.

But under the raucous laughter, there was another, deeper sound, a release to the tension which had gripped her.

As if the earth itself was finally responding to the countless outrages against her, the room jumped, and the walls shivered. A deep roaring sound filled her; all around her she could see wide eyes, wide mouths screaming, but no sound was forthcoming.

She feebly rolled onto her back, then felt a twist at her ankles as Nich, his feet entwined in hers, fell atop her, bringing the desk down on both of them. His eyes were closed tightly, his hands and jaw clenched, as if he couldn't stand to see what was going to happen to them. Well, Kris could see well enough for the both of them; the cracks ran up the walls, delicate and ever-widening flaws in the plaster...As the cracks deepened around a section of the ceiling directly over where Nich was pressing his face into her shoulder, where she lay, unable to stand in time, as the ceiling itself began a slow, gentle descent, like a blanket coming to usher her into sleep –

It fell slowly, so slowly that Kris had time to think that if the ceiling itself didn't kill her, well, her fate was sealed anyway from all the asbestos that it was made of, ha, ha, and people said she had no sense of humor, well! If only they could see her now, laughing even as she thrust a feeble arm up to protect herself and the vast chunk of plaster shattered the bone as it settled lovingly upon it, as she screamed in agony, in terror, in the fact that she'd never be able to finish the book she was in the middle of, that she'd never be able to have her aunt tell her she was proud of her –

And then there was a flash of white, a sustained white that made her whimper from the bleakness of it all. From the blanched nothingness, she heard voices – it seemed like it should have been a memory, but she had never spoken these words.

"Are you frightened?" a girl asked, and damn if it didn't sound just like her own voice when she was younger.

"Yes," a boy answered simply. "You?"

"Yes. Well, we're nothing if we let our fear rule us, are we? Nothing but a giant, shivering terror ball."

The boy didn't answer for a moment. "Are we going to meet again, Adrienne?"

"Of course we are. We'll meet again in heaven – that's what the priests always said, wasn't it? When they came to preach to us poor sinners."

"I never believed them."

"Well, then I'll make a place for us. For you and me. So we can live together." A pause. "Nothing says we'll die, anyway."

"Yes, we will."

"Yeah. Well, I'll see you again, Dorian."

"Yeah."

And then there was a feeling of terrible cold, of suffocation, and Kris was falling –

She landed in a vast field of sickly grasses in ridiculous colors – there were reds, and blues, and greens of entirely the wrong shade, with a sprinkling of alien flowers. The dying mat cushioned her fall so that Kris landed with only a few bruises. She looked up; there was nowhere from where she could have fallen.

Slowly she stood, and turned in a circle. A little way away, there was a line of stunted trees, and beyond that, a mountain range standing in solid timelessness. On the other side was more mountains, much taller and more imposing, though farther away.

Behind her came a tiny cough, and she jumped and whipped around, staring at the creature that smiled creepily at her. It – he – certainly hadn't been there before. He had the face of an old man, infinitely wrinkled to the point that the eyes were closed, and covered all over with a prickly sort of hair like the stubble after a face hasn't been shaved for weeks. His head was bald but for more of the graying stubble, sparser than on his face.

The body below the head was – well, it was rather akin to a cow's, or a deer's, but covered with countless arms, making him look a touch like a mutant hedgehog. The arms were of all sorts; predominantly human, but here and there was a paw or cloven hoof or something less identifiable than that. Rising from his back was a pair of skeletal wings that flapped gently as he stared at her through his closed eyes. Kris swallowed.

He chuckled. "You will be Kristina Hux, won't you?" he wheezed and hissed in a voice like pant legs swishing together.

"I – I'm sor – sir, who are you?"

"I am the Namekeeper," he said, bowing, using far too many of his arms. "Hnnn. Crushing is not a pleasant way to go, Kristina."

"To – what the hell are you talking – " She froze as she began to understand. "I'm...dead, aren't I?"

The Namekeeper grinned, and his needlelike teeth numbered in the thousands. "Very good!" he applauded. "More perceptive than most."

"So – I'm in heaven?"

This time, his chuckle was somewhere between mocking and bitter. "Heaven? Oh, no. Most certainly not! No. I welcome you, Kristina, to the Crossroads."