There’s your soul to reap tonight, her name’s Samantha, Death said.

  *You could have brought me here at the end of the show.*

  And miss the end of Swan Lake? Not on your life! Ever couldn’t sense Death anymore; it was just him and the ghost in the theatre.

  All ghosts moved with an ethereal quality, but there was something extra soft and lithe about the way that Samantha floated, as if she had years of intentional practice moving in a certain way. Seconds later, Ever was proven correct. She danced choreography like it was second nature, moving and flowing like water over pebbles, all with her eyes closed. This performance was accompanied only by her humming that he could hear; he found it more mesmerising than the dancers an hour earlier.

  She opened her eyes, spotted him standing next to the stage and gasped.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Ever said. He laid the scythe on the stage.

  “Oh, you’re…” she gazed at the mythical tool, expression unreadable.

  “I’m Ever, Death’s apprentice. He sent me here to help you get to the Underworld… if you’re done with your performance, that is. You dance very well, by the way.”

  Samantha’s slightly frightened expression dissolved. Head held high, she held an arm out and curtsied to Ever.

  “Swan Lake is my favorite production. I watched the Russian Ballet when I was a child. I had lessons until… the accident.”

  Ever floated up onto the stage and picked up the scythe. Samantha eyed it but wasn't tense.

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  “I was heartbroken. The stage had been my home for two decades. Suddenly I couldn’t move my legs anymore. What was I to do?” She floated back until she was next to the large, fine instrument. She did her best to rest her hand on top of it.

  “You learned how to play the piano?” Ever guessed.

  Samantha smiled broadly and nodded. “I started by teaching myself. I was horrendous. I only played for myself. One time, I thought everyone had left the studio I practiced in, but he was still there.”

  Ever sat down on the stage cross-legged, looking up at Samantha, absolutely drawn into her story.

  “He was a concert pianist who had been listening to me but hadn’t said anything until that day. He said that he would teach me. One thing led to another and within a year, we got married.”

  Even as a ghost, her face carried so much expression. More so than a lot of the ice cream customers he saw day to day. He didn’t want to speak, lest he break the spell of the tale she was telling.

  “He taught me slowly and patiently. Eventually, I was confident enough to take the stage again, but this time, as a pianist,” she laid a hand fondly on the corner of the grand piano. “It’s funny how life works, isn’t it?”

  Ever nodded reverently.

  “I would love to play the Swan Lake theme one more time, Ever. Not just to feel the keys, but to remember my husband. Can you help me?”

  “Of course,” Ever said. He bowed to her; it felt like the right thing to do.

  The scythe shone, brighter than the stage lights had been:

  SENSES

  Hearing

  —--

  Touch

  —--

  —--

  Ever selected both senses. The scythe glowed brightly, dividing into two, bright lights. They moved over to Samantha’s hands, sinking through her palms. She marvelled at her fingers, gleaming with light. Eyes sparkling with gratitude, she sat down at the piano, lifted the lid, rested her fingers over the keys and began to play.