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Delirium thinks that she's done a bad thing. A ficlet written for Yuletide 2006.
"Do you feel bad about it?" she asked, stretching out her hand to the man who'd suddenly and fatally found his lungs turned to gills in the middle of a city block.
"I thought he'd be happy. I thought that, with my head, because he likes being in the water better than he likes being in suits and ties and cubicals and apartments and taxis, so my head thought that I'd give him a very nice present and let him stay there forever and always. I didn't want him to stop breathing and be dead," she said, the words meandering through her head to her mouth like ants dancing in a congo line, which wasn't something that had ever happened before, but she thought it would be a really nice things for ants to do. Much nicer than stealing picnics.
Even as that thought left her head once more the residents of an anthill at her feet began moving in ways they'd never imagined they could.
"Do you promise never to do it again unless it's to someone who's in the water," Death asked, smiling at Delirium like she was her favoritest little sister of all, which made Delirium feel and warm and fuzzy inside, like a kitten that she couldn't ever have outside of her because Barnabus would chase it.
"Yes," she said, "I will write it down and remember it good, like I'm the bestest rememberer that's ever been."
"Then that's all that matters." Death stepped away from the body and took a look around them. "Hey, I know this great ice cream place nearby. Come on, I'll buy you a sundae."
And Delirium knew that that meant everything was going to be all right.