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Death is out in the ruins, putting the falling stars to good use. Behind her, on a half-crumbled wall, are six wooden frames, each one different in style. There's no picture held by any of them, but on the backing where a photo or painting would be placed, the letter D has been scratched onto the surface. Beneath each frame is an item; a heavy, moth-eaten book, a helmet made to resemble the skull and spine of an unidentifiable being, the handle of a sword, a rock in the shape of a heart, a hooked ring, and a small glass vial, containing a liquid made up of ever changing colours; and they are all quite useless. The book has no words, the helm is too small to wear, the sword is clearly harmless, the rock may well have always been there, the ring has been cut and no longer forms a circle, and who would even considering drinking whatever the liquid is? ]
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apparently pleased with her lot, Death is sat on a rock, legs crossed as she tends to the “table” in front of her. It is, in fact, only another piece of the ruins, but she's thrown a sheet over it, and set up a small tea set on the surface. She pours and stirs the piping hot water, adding in leaves and sugar and honey, and while she seems to have no interest in drinking it herself, she may well be waiting for company ]
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after a moment, she speaks into the vine ]
A long time ago, when the skies were still pitch-black, the First Man set about placing all of the stars in the sky. It was, as I'm sure you can all imagine, a long, arduous task, and he set out to do it the only way he knew how: methodically, with a sense of complete order and control. The First Man decided that he would place all of the stars in rows and columns, each an equal distance apart, so that the night sky might resemble a grid, no matter which way anyone or anything gazed upon it.
But! – and here's where it gets interesting – he spent so very long mapping the position of each and every star that the trickster god Coyote was able to steal them from him! Now, on the surface, Coyote appeared to be less serious about his work than Loki, and less frightful than Wisakedjak, but a trickster is as a trickster does, and it isn't very smart to assume that how they present themselves is anything close to their true nature. For the First Man and all those who followed, Coyote was the portal through which chaos bled into the world, and with it, the ability for mortals to gain wisdom and differentiate between what they should and shouldn't do. Morals, if you will.
Now Coyote, he took the stars, and threw them without care into the sky, scattering them in clusters and constellations across the heavens. Ever the wise fool, Coyote didn't particularly intend for anything to come of his unruly behaviour, and yet, with the way that the sky appears to be falling, I can't help but be reminded of him. Not that I'm suggesting you're a trickster in any way, shape or form, Ms. Damsel, but it'd be nice if everyone could be at least a little careful.
And remember, the inverse law of wishing: the more you want something, the less likely you are to get it.