Foolish mortal, why do you suppose that Death knows not the pangs of love? 'Tis true that Death's black hand rules over the dark lands, his domain bitter fruit, but know this: the mightiest among us is as a child before the might of Eros. Death, more ancient than the bones of Baal, older than the desert dunes of Egypt, has renewed felt the sinew-strength of love's pull.

An ache pulsed in Death's bosom, his heart black with bruise, knowing only despair and waste. His body, cleft of earthly flesh, exposing the bleached bones of eternity, now experienced the carnal lust of earthly desire. His heart, long sheathed within a crystal casement of desolation, dared to emerge. Could Death love again? Death dreamed a shadow scene wherein he extended his bony grip to fair Sprite...and the grip taken up to her soft, parchment breast.