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For the longest time, Calliope Mori never knew warmth.
Sure, she knew heat. It was everywhere in the Underworld, with the River Phlegethon running through the entire realm. The heat from the contents of its molten lava could be felt throughout the entire realm and those who were absolutely stupid enough to even approach it had the fabric of their souls singed off.
If you had asked Calliope in the past what the difference between heat and warmth is, she would have called you stupid, then promptly slice you down. Calli wouldn’t have known the difference—not like it would have mattered to her, anyways. She was death, she is death, and she will continue to be death for as long as time continues to exist. Sensations like heat and warmth didn’t matter to her. Technically, even now with her human body, they still don’t matter to her. This temporary vessel of flesh, skin, and bones doesn’t house her—it can’t house her. Death functions beyond any mortal coil. Calliope knows that better than anyone.
But the moment she entered her human body, she realized her assumption about heat and warmth being the same was wrong. So very, very wrong.
Warmth is the feeling of skin brushing against skin. It’s the sensation when you interlock your fingers with one another. It’s the feeling of hot breath staving off the bitter cold. It’s the feeling in your chest that rises alongside the sun at dawn, and it’s the feeling that stays in your chest as loved ones part ways with you.
Warmth is far, far different from heat, Calli realizes, and that is because it heals. It doesn’t burn nor scar like the way heat is capable of—warmth soothes and it comforts. It’s a sign of being alive.
It’s why Calliope doesn’t like visiting hospitals anymore when she collects souls. She doesn’t like how cold they feel.
It reminds her that she is the cold one.
Even with her heartbeat and her skin and all her organs inside of her body, and despite living in literal Hell, Calli knows she is cold—very, very cold.
She feels it when she goes to collect souls with her human body. They’re always so frighteningly cold to the touch, some of them almost freezing. If she arrives early enough, she can feel the warmth drain from their bodies as their souls detach from their vessels. To humans, cold has always been so intrinsic to death.
And because she is death, she is cold.
But there are times when, temporarily, she can forget how cold she is.
When Calli thinks about it, these times are only when she’s around her.
Whether it’s the brief moments where they meet in the Underworld before she revives, or when they meet by chance whenever Calliope comes up to collect souls, that damned bird’s smile is always there when they catch eyes. It’s a smile that is as blinding as the sun, brilliant and always shining. As much as Calli hates to admit it, that smile is enough to make the heart in her chest beat just a little bit faster. Even when that stupid bird forgets who she is, Calliope knows that bird will greet her the same way, with that very warm smile.
“Calli, isn’t it so pretty?!”
Calliope is pulled out of her thoughts. She blinks, remembering where she is—on Earth, in Japan, on a mountain top—and looks up.
She sees that brilliant smile on that brilliant girl, whose fiery orange hair shimmers in the morning light. The sun peeks out from the horizon, framing her figure, enveloping it in a golden halo.
Calliope takes in a breath of air despite herself—a gasp, she realizes.
“It is,” she says, but her voice drifts off because her thoughts are elsewhere.
She suddenly becomes so conscious of her body and how her heart throbs in her chest, how her skin takes in the sun’s rays, and how she can’t help but simply stare at the sight in front of her.
Kiara is beautiful. So, so beautiful.
Before she knows it, a pair of soft lips press against hers, and when Calli is taken out of her thoughts again, she sees a pair of purple eyes staring at her.
“You looked like you wanted a kiss,” Kiara says softly. There’s no teasing tone in her voice, no playful twinkle in her eyes; just a genuine show of emotion as she stands so close to Calli that the reaper can feel the warmth of Kiara’s body against her skin.
Calliope doesn’t pull away like she usually would have done. She stays where she is, relishing in this warmth that blankets her skin, making its way to her heart.
Silently, she intertwines her fingers with Kiara’s. Her usually cold hand feels so warm in the other’s grasp. So, so warm.
Calliope Mori was death, is death, and will continue to be death for as long as time continues to exist.
But in this moment, death feels alive.