Please welcome author Jayme Beddingfield, a very kick-ass writer. I even used "very" to describe her and it's a non-essential word. *Free Edit tip!

Anyway, we decided to interview each other for a fun blog post, and when she sent me her questions I realized I had to up my game. Please read on to find out what fictional character she'd want to be best friends with, the color she'd choose if the world could only have one hue, and other similar important issues. You can also find out more about her and her writing, so please read on! 

What books have you written?
The Highly Capable, which is the first in my new urban fantasy series The Ruby Dawson Saga.

If you could be best friends with a character from a book you’ve read, who would it be? Why?
I would pick Alice Cullen from the Twilight Saga. She was one of my favorite aspects of that series because she was such an awesome friend to Bella. Alice is so fun and enchanting, loyal, and supremely kick-ass.

If a magic genie said he could turn you into any kind of fantasy creature you wished, what would you be? Why?
I love this question so much. It’s hard to pick one, but assuming it would be a permeant transformation, I would have to go with a fairy. 
 
What’s your favorite paranormal ability?
I’m always amazed by the mind which leaves me torn between telekinesis and clairvoyance. 
 
If the world could only be one color, what would you choose?
I think a world that was entirely turquoise would be rather magnificent.  

If you could be Buffy, Willow, or Anya, who would you be?
I love this question. Buffy the Vampire Slayer was my one of favorite shows, still holds a spot on the list of shows I’ll always love. I would definitely be Buffy. She’s a totally kick butt, witty and ambitious character.  

What are you writing currently?
I am currently finishing up The Immensely Powerful, Book 2 of The Ruby Dawson Saga, and I’m also writing a coming of age young adult book that I’m really excited about. 

What books or authors have served as inspirations to your own writing?
There are so many fabulous authors and incredible stories out there, and honestly, I gain so much inspiration from all of it. Everything tends to have a piece of inspiration I can take from it. That being said if I were to call out any one particular, it would be Katherine Patterson’s Bridge to Terabithia because it was the first book I read that truly turned me onto the world of literature, which has become such a big part of my life—sometimes my entire life.

What’s are some must-reads on your to-be-read list for 2016?
This is the year that I’m tackling all of Maggie Stiefvater's titles for sure. I’m currently reading The Dream Thieves, which is the 2nd in The Raven’s Cycle series. It’s crazy good. This year I have a goal of reading 100 books.  I haven't made a point to do this since my sophomore year in college.

What is the best movie you’ve seen based on a book?
That’s easy. The Hunger Games Trilogy lent itself extremely well to the big screen. I love those movies, almost as much as the books.
 
If you found the fountain of youth, would you drink from it and be young forever?
Yes, I think I would. But, knowing myself I would probably bottle it up and think about it for awhile first, make a pro/con list, and then after some sleepless nights, I would drink it and then convince my loved ones to the same.

Where can we find your books? And what are your links?
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-highly-capable-jayme-beddingfield/1122902045?ean=2940151221368

http://www.amazon.com/Highly-Capable-Ruby-Dawson-Saga-ebook/dp/B017J8MKX0/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1447823752&sr=1-1&keywords=the+highly+capable
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/27785982-the-highly-capable

My blog jaymethescribbler.com is an awesome place to stay update with my releases, events, and creative work. I’m always putting up short stories and various serials. 

Balance
[bal-uh ns] 

noun
1. a state of equilibrium or equipoise; equal distribution of weight,amount, etc.
2. something used to produce equilibrium; counterpoise.
3. mental steadiness or emotional stability; habit of calm behavior,judgment, etc.
4. a state of bodily equilibrium: He lost his balance and fell down the stairs.

verb (used with object), balanced, balancing.
18. to bring to or hold in equilibrium; poise: to balance a book on one's head.
19. to arrange, adjust, or proportion the parts of symmetrically.

Source: Dictionary.com (http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/balance)


People seem to scoff at the term "resolutions" quite a bit nowadays. As if they're a joke, a trifle. But there's reasons people grip onto the idea of resolutions at the end of another year. They want to be better. And that is always an admirable goal. This is a year when I truly embraced the resolution. Not resolutions to chat about and then throw out the door as soon as the clock strikes midnight in the new year because they can't be maintained. But realistic resolutions. Ones to live by. To live a healthier existence and thus be a better mother, wife, daughter, sister, friend, editor and writer. To sleep more. To not take on SO much all at once. To find balance. These may seem like a lot, but it's really not. I believe it just requires some serenity and a few moments to take stock, slow down, and realize what should be priority. 

Balance. It's a word underused and under-appreciated. And yet, there's quite a few literary thoughts on balance that don't see eye to eye:

“Something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terror, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them.”  -Anaïs Nin

(Perhaps a tad dramatic, eh? I like to think I can obtain balance and create something great without great terror or instability.)

And on the flip side, we have:

“Without balance, a life is no longer worth the effort.” -Olen Steinhauer

(Again, this one seems a bit over the top.)

Personally, my favorite is Ellen's. She's always spot-on with her observations:
 
“My point is, life is about balance. The good and the bad. The highs and the lows. The pina and the colada.” -Ellen DeGeneres

Yep, right on, per the usual.

Balance can play different roles in life, but my personal imbalance comes from several years of running myself ragged trying to keep up with life's demands and ones I've put upon myself. I've suffered from guilt while writing my own books or spending time with my son or husband because I needed to do work, and I've felt guilty for working when I felt I should be devoting more time to my family. So I'm working on ridding myself of that guilt and taking on only what I can reasonably handle.

Over the years, I've found I can obtain balance best by incorporating a number of past-times and activities into my life:

-Healthy eating
-Writing
-Working out
-Reading
-Meditation
-Experiences v. stuff
​-Afternoons soaking in sunlight and fresh breezes (will have to wait for spring, I suppose)
-Sleep
-Me time

As 2016 takes hold, I wish you all a balanced journey, and I will be working toward bringing a steady and guilt-free equilibrium to my world. And that includes spending more time writing what I love, connecting with readers, and finishing projects.

Happy year! 

I was on my way home from my son's little soccer class tonight when we passed a house shining with the soft glow of the season. And lit up on the side of the house was the word "Believe." 

Around this time of year belief plays a large role in movies and books—whether it surrounds believing in Santa Clause or faith—and in our interactions with our children as we strive to create one more magical Christmas where it's plausible an Elf sitting on your shelf truly flies or that Santa is truly watching.

My son has a logical little mind, and there's a part of me that thinks this might be his last Christmas believing. He asks questions and points out implausibilities on a regular basis. When asked if he thinks magic exists, he'll usually answer in the negative. But he is buying the Elf on the Shelf bit this year, at least I think he is. There's also the chance he's just playing along with Mommy's madness. 

Belief recently played a role in an interaction I had with him at bed time, but this one was a little different than Santa Clause and elves. I was folding laundry while he ran around the upstairs giggling insanely as small children do when he came up to me with a blanket wrapped around his head like a bonnet and said in a high-pitched voice, "Hi, I'm Amy." I laughed and played along, although I had been surprised by his choice of names since I didn't know of anyone with the name Amy that he might know. Of course, there could be someone at school with the name, or maybe he'd heard it on TV, so I shrugged off my wonder.

A little later, after we'd read a story and had laid down to talk for a few moments before I left him for sleep, he said in the same high-pitched voice, "I'm still Amy." So I said, "Can I have [Son's name] back now?"
And his response was the catalyst for the next few minutes when he said, "[Son's name] isn't here right now." 

Now, there must be at least a dozen creepy movies where a child is possessed and says something along the lines of what he had said. Of course, I just laughed and told him he was silly. He then turned to the side, whispered something, and turned to look at me announcing he was himself again with a thrilled little grin. But then he continued to turn to his side every minute or so and whisper to his new friend, "Amy." So I asked more about her, and he explained she comes from the mirror, and when I asked if she was invisible, he said, "no, she's like a ghost." He then told me she would come back through other people. Umm, like possession? I thought, feeling my skin crawl as my son wove his tale.

I have to say, that despite my rational nature and my intact skepticism, there's still a part of me that for a split second thought he was possibly talking to a ghost. I mean, I am a writer after all. Our imaginations some times get the better of us. Plus, he'd been talking about the "people in the mirror" since he was three. 

Of course, I was home alone and I texted my husband our creepy little conversation, which he found hilarious. The next morning my husband asked my son about "Amy" and once again he started talking in a high-pitched voice. Then my husband took on the moniker of Christine and the two of them pranced around the family room talking like girls. It made for great entertainment while I sipped my coffee and laughed. I of course should have just asked my silly little creative boy if he was playing pretend or if he thought what he was saying was real. Because his answer the next morning was, pretend, of course! Sillier mommy.

Although only four, my son has inspired a story idea or two, something about the People in the Mirror. I feel a Middle-Grade novel in my blood, but it's still brewing alongside the developing mind of my growing son.

I DO believe that magic can exist in even the skeptic, as long as creativity is allowed to grow. So although my son may not believe in Santa Clause next year, or maybe he will, who knows, I know his imagination isn't lacking in magic.

Let's talk epic. 

Epic fantasy comes in many shapes and forms. Take for instance Tolkien's Lord of the Rings and Sara Douglass's Axis Trilogy and Wayfarer Redemption series. Tolkien is a household name, while only those really into fantasy seem to have really read Douglass. But they share the title of being epic. In both, there's adventure, traveling, magic (of course), major conflict from a major evil, a hero/heroine born, and unlikely connections made. 

But let's break it down into what I believe makes a story truly epic:

• Adventure -- In most epics I've ever read, the main characters and a group of supporters in the fight for good travel against fear of capture or death to fight the good fight, retrieve some magical heirloom, or free a loved one from danger. There's some walking, running, riding, character conflict, and definitely fights to the death.
  
  
• Fight Scenes -- I'm not an expert in combat, but when I was writing my own epic I knew the fight scenes were important and had to be written with precision and grace. Beloved characters often die during these scenes and an author must treat this with as much compassion and love as they can. And they usually do, because the author is the one crying while killing the character. 
  
  
• Length -- What can I say, epic is long. The reason these stories are so long is because they are such big tales. There's so much mythology, world-building, and cast of characters to account for that 200 pages would never be enough to contain the absolute epic-ness of it.
  
  
• Characters -- There's usually a few faces to remember, but it's really the names that count. A name key is usually nice while reading.
  
  
• Romance -- In my opinion, great love is usually a part of an epic tale. It might not be the main focus, but it's often there pulling strings, inspiring ballads and bravery, and destroying relationships (oh, Camelot, my Camelot). 
  
  
• Overcoming and self discovery -- Growth is a staple of any good character who has the chops to be the hero. Maybe the heroine (or hero) start off as weak, resistant, scared and discovers her inner strength. Maybe the character doesn't know how to open up and finally lets someone in as the story wears on. There's many ways for self discovery to take place, but truly epic stories make you heave sighs of relief and remorse at the decisions made by the main character. I can't say how many times my heart has swelled, my chest has tightened, and I've struggled to choke back tears when a hero (or heroine) comes into his own. It's one of my favorite parts in any book or movie—when that heroine (or hero) is no longer taking shit anymore. That's right, Tarod, you reclaim that chaos, it only makes you hotter. 
  
  
• Good world building can create more magic for the reader than any wizard or dragon. It is within the world that magic seeps, that a culture, a universe, a book, a timeless, epic tale is born.

I could go on with more thoughts about what makes a story epic, but I'd love to hear from others about your thoughts. Also, if you do like epic fantasy, be sure to check out Epic Wednesday on Facebook during the first ever Virtual Fantasy-Con.

https://www.facebook.com/events/893446364072813/

We don't fall in line with guidelines or rules, we like the unique as well as the tropes. We're all-genre lovers, but we must admit, fantasy and sci-fi appeal to our whimsical, magical natures, just a bit. We're sisters talking about books, writing, and anything in relation to stories, fables, and myths. We'll yarn some, we'll darn some, we love to try some .... books.

My sister and I just launched a vlog, called the Quirky Book Sirens, in which over drinks, we discuss various themes in books and the industry. In our debut episode we discuss YA horror, throwback style, meaning we reminisced on the likes of R.L. Stine and Christopher Pike. 

Check it below:

Chicklit lovers should check me and my sister's book review for the latest giveaway, Lisa Becker's Clutch, which launched Monday. Here's the links to the blog for more info about the author and book and the link to the Rafflecopter:

Cellar Door Lit Rants & Reviews (w/ info about Clutch)

Rafflecopter Link

​Grim paced in the solitude of her quarters, her scythe leaning against the wall an arm’s reach away should Hades or one of his minion children attempt to break into her room and finish the fight. Yet, she knew that wouldn’t happen. Somehow, she had ended up exactly where Hades wanted her. Accused. On the brink of banishment for a crime she knew she hadn’t committed.
 
Whirling toward the door, she paused, tilting her head as the soft rap of a fist on wood came purposeful and in secret. Breathing out a sigh of relief, she opened the door as quickly and quietly as possible and yanked her sister into the room, shutting the door behind her.
 
“Did you hide it?” she breathed, noticing the pallor that tinted her natural bronzed coloring.
 
“Si, Hermana,” she said softly. “It is hidden well, with an old friend … I should not say where, as long as you truly believe it is necessary … Surely, the council does not believe you would kill Pluto? He has always been a friend.”
 
“Yes, that may be true, but the council also understands there is no love lost between Hades and I, and if I was aiming for Hades, then it is possible they will believe him … I do not believe that matters at the moment, though. I have a sense of darkness, a dread within me. I … I believe Hades has somehow gained control over the council without either your or I ever knowing.”
 
Seba shook her head, her brow wrinkled in concern, a red flower that had been woven into her dark curls floated to the ground and stained the floor like a bright splash of blood. Seba bent to retrieve it, offering the token to Grim, who took it and tucked it into the folds of her cloak. “His children should not be any trouble, Hermana. They cannot be a challenge to us,” she said confidently.
 
“They are legion,” Grim said softly. “A problem we could not have foreseen.” She turned away, following the sharp curve of the scythe as it rested gleaming against the wall. She had no doubt it was the instrument of death that Hades was looking for. There was untapped potential within it, and if he were to ever get his hands on both scythes, well … but as it stood right now, he’d have to kill her to get the scythe. He could not take it from her as it was bound to her, and the only way for him to even touch it would be if she gave it willingly, and that would never happen. She glanced back at her sister, who was watching her quietly, a glow of fear flickering in the softness of her eyes.
 
Seba had always embraced the human spark of compassion more closely than Grim, and for that reason she radiated with warmth and a kindness that could be manipulated. That was why Grim couldn’t risk her sister’s scythe. Seba could possibly be swayed to give it up. Grim couldn’t.
 
“All I know is Kali wouldn’t look me in the eye. Kali,” she said, placing emphasis on the deity’s name.
 
Seba held up a hand to stop her sister from going on any more. “I must go, Hermana. Perhaps I can convince them how wrong they are, otherwise we are both lost.”
 
Grim held her sister’s eyes for a moment, a surge of sadness nearly drowning her as it crushed her chest and robbed her of breath. Grim had never been overly emotional, even at the height of soul crossing, although she’d had her share of moments. But now … she lurched forward and wrapped her arms around her sister, burying her face in Seba’s flowery scented hair. She released a breath as her sister’s soft, warm embrace enfolded her for a moment. When she pulled back, Seba’s eyes were glistening.
 
“I must go,” she whispered. “We will make this right.”
 
Grim nodded, watching her shut the door behind her. “I should never have given up my reign,” she murmured softly, annoyed she’d ever thought diplomacy was the way to rule the underworld. Sunrise would be soon, she needed to … what could she do? Gritting her teeth at her momentary powerlessness, she jerked her head to the door when a quiet, yet determined knock made her jaw clench.
 
She opened the door slowly and stepped back, nodding to the deity who passed her, the necklace of skulls that hung around her neck jingling together. “Kali …,” Grim murmured, holding her equally dark gaze. “I am surprised you are here. It was quite apparent in the caverns that you had chosen your side.” She said it without a hint of malice, but disappointment dripped from her words and, without her meaning for it to, betrayal.
 
Kali’s face rippled in dismay, then smoothed out once more. “It will not matter once Hades has had his way, so I will tell you.”
 
“Please … what sins, what power does that masochist have over the entire council?” She heard the plea in her voice, and she pushed the darkness that was beginning to creep inside her away.
 
Stiffly, Kali nodded and greeted her gaze full on. “Believe me when I tell you I have always been your friend, Grim. I have no affection for Hades. I find him cruel, greedy, power-hungry, and unstable. But my people, my souls, are my first priority, so when that is jeopardized then I must protect them first.”
 
Although baffled by the direction of the conversation, Grim nodded. “I do understand, but what could—“
 
“Our soul gates.”
 
Silence permeated every mote and speck within the room, floating in a standstill of shock. “What did you say,” she hissed.
 
“You heard me right. Somehow, Hades has located our soul gates. Almost all of them, I believe. He asked me to take a walk with him one day and that’s where he led me, to my soul gate, which is now guarded day and night by several of his sons and daughters. He has begun keeping count of which souls cross and who they belong to. All of our gates are guarded this way. He has so many children we are outnumbered.”
 
“To what end?” Grim breathed, the walls of the room seeming to close in on her as fury welled up within her. A deity’s soul gate was where their specific souls crossed through into Abbadon. Each deity reigned over the souls of their culture, and only passed over those with cultural, religious, or geographic ties. Grim could not reap Seba’s souls and her sister could not take hers. For this reason, the gates were sacred and secret, and it was forbidden to seek out another’s gate. How Hades had found them when they were hidden deep within folds of underworld and reality, she did not know.
 
“Control. To control you, Grim. If we do not abide by his requests he shuts the gates down, blocks them somehow. The souls cannot pass then, and then they wander.”
 
“How do you know?”
 
“I did not give in so easily, at first, Grim. I would hope you would know me better than that,” she said, her tongue lolling out as she grinned ferally, the darkness lighting up her inky eyes, letting Grim see that Kali the warrior still existed. “But then he blocked my souls for a day … it was excruciating. I am here to be a shepherd to my souls, and if I cannot be the protector and guide they need I am not leading my people.”
 
“He has gone too far,” Grim seethed, a rage burning though her so hot the acrid scent of feathers burning forced her to quell the rage.
 
“There’s more …” Kali said quietly, the lovely lines of her face set seriously, regret and sadness heavy on the bow of her shoulders. “Hades has taken Seba. He apprehended her on her way to reason with the council and is furious that she has hidden her scythe. He means to use your love for him against her … You may be our marble goddess, but your love for you sister is apparent to all, and he means to use that weakness against you.”
 
The full range of human emotion seemed to be possessing Grim, because her stomach twisted at Kali’s words. “I will smite him, everyone,” she hissed.
 
Instantly, she knew it wasn’t rational, she knew that--
 
“If the death deities cease to exist, or are unable to pass souls through their soul gates, well, I don’t need to tell you that it would be cataclysmic. For the deities. The souls. For the world,” Kali said softly. “I am sorry, but the deities and the council have no choice but to stand with Hades.”
 
The enormity of the planning that Hades’s had put into his takeover—possibly centuries—halted Grim. She had underestimated him, thought him a buffoon to look down her nose at, and now it could cost her far more than she’d ever thought possible.
 
Stepping quickly to her scythe, she snatched it from the wall and turned back to Kali. “How is it possible his offspring could overpower us? They are children, half-human, and surely do not have the power we do. We are ancient, while they're still naive enough to believe Hades is a good role model.”
 
“He has allies, Grim. It is not just his hybrids. He has deities who support him, like Styx, who has aligned herself with him, giving him access to the caverns that is detrimental to us. And those that do not have been sent to their rooms under lock and key.”
 
“Seker and Persephone,” Grim whispered.
 
Kali nodded. “And more.”
 
In her thousands years of existence, she had never felt more helpless or alone. Despair threatened her, flickering against her consciousness, but she batted it away. “Certainly eliminating his offspring would not impact any balance. They are merely extras in the death dance,” Grim murmured.
 
Kali’s dark eyes widened. “You would never break the sacred rule.”
 
Nodding, she remained silent. Kali was right, of course. She could not, would not, take a life. The irony of being Death. But she also could not allow him to cut off the gateways to the souls. “It is time, is it not?”
 
Kali nodded, both deities sensing the night lifting. “I am sorry, Grim. Truly. I do not know what we can do. I fear for the souls, for our home.”
 
Grim reached out her hand, and Kali took it, her wide lips curving in a bleak smile, the tight lines around her eyes eased away with Grim’s gesture. “For now, I will do what is necessary to protect you, my sister, and the balance. I must find out what Hades’s ultimate end is before I can act. But I give you my word and oath as the Grim Reaper,” she said, squeezing Kali’s hand tightly, “Hades will not destroy us. I will restore Abbadon. Until then, keep your souls safe.”
 
Grim slipped the flower Seba had given her earlier and tucked it behind her ear, then she dropped her cloak to the floor. A whoosh and a breeze sailed through the air as great, inky black wings unfurled, darkening the hallway as they stepped into it. “I wouldn’t want to attend my banishment without these.”

                       ***
I hope you all enjoyed Grim's Fall. For now it stands as a short story on its own, but I may eventually serialize more of her adventures after the banishment. Thanks so much for reading! And for those of you who entered the giveaway, I'll be announcing the winners tomorrow night! Also, any new subscribers will receive their copy of Fairytale Lost tomorrow as well as the latest edition of my newsletter for details on my Fairytale twisting contest. Thanks for jumping to our October Frights Blog Hop, it's been a blast.<3

The October Frights Blog Hop is almost done, so I wanted to share an excerpt from The Reaper's Daughter. Look for Part III of Grim's Fall, coming in the next two days! Also, don't miss the giveaway, which will end in two days:

http://www.kmrandallauthor.com/blog/2015-october-frights-blog-hop

              ***
Present 

THE ROLLING GREEN of her eyes was dimming fast, losing color and life to the quick click of time that beat out her days and nights, a perpetual circle that was now fading to a close. Light brown hair that had been recently styled into looping curls was limp against the black pillowcase―a metaphor for her wilted spirit, I mused, thinking offhandedly how proud my English professor would be at my thoughtful use of language.

I sighed. I didn’t want to be here.

When her eyes met mine, I knew she saw me for who I really was—what I really was. She reached out an eager hand to take mine. I didn’t want anything to do with it. But it wasn’t because her fingers were slick with blood, deep crimson dripping down her arm and fingernails from where she’d so precisely placed a razor blade to her vein and dug deep, thinking she’d be free of her pain. It was because her face reflected back to me all the times I’d felt I’d been given a shitty deal. Current situation: case in point.

“Hi,” she whispered, her once pink lips fading with every pump of her life, which was idly dripping away from her to the plush white carpet below. I could smell the newness of it, the fresh aroma of a recently laid floor. That’s going to be a bitch to get clean.

I looked around her bedroom, at the dance trophies and pictures of smiling friends, and wondered why.  Why me? “Blake …” Hearing my mother's warning tone, I looked over at her where she stood in the shadows, overseeing my tutelage.

“Why can’t we just call an ambulance? It’s not too late. They could save her,” I whispered fiercely, staring at the girl’s hand stretched out to me as if I were her savior and not her end. “We should save—”

“It’s not for us to decide, you know that. We are only here to bring souls over, not save their mortal lives. Take her, she wants to go.”

“And will she still feel the same when she’s looking down at her body?” I asked, not even bothering to check my mother’s expression when she didn’t answer. Suicide wasn’t a peaceful death. It was pain―that much I knew.

I choked back the tears that wanted to rise in my eyes for this girl, for me … I turned to her once more and leaned down, brushing a strand of her hair from her graying face. “What’s your name?”

Barely blinking, her pale eyes darted to me. “Carly,” she said, choking around her words.

“Just hold my hand and I’ll help you cross,” I said softly, forcing myself to meet her gaze so that someone would witness her ending as they had her beginning.

She smiled slowly, and I saw that in life she had been pretty. When she’d believed. When she’d had hope. 
“The light?” Her eyes widened, glittering green for a brief moment in their otherwise colorless depths at the prospect of going somewhere beautiful after this life had been so cold.

I nodded, although I didn’t really know where she would go. I was only in training, but I hoped it was someplace good, where her tormented soul could rest.

She had small, feminine hands, I thought, as she laced her slippery fingers around my longer warm ones. She didn’t last long, her pulse giving one last flutter before sputtering out. 

The room was suffused with the silence left behind in the absence of such a simple thing. The thundering lack of a person’s heartbeat had never seemed quite so loud. As life departed Carly’s mortal coil, her soul lifted from the body, but unlike some souls I’d seen that were light and buoyant, at peace with the next step in their existence, hers was outlined in darkness, and it rippled, suspended in space like a special effect in a bad horror film. Her gaze turned from her body to me, sorrow coming to settle on the slope of her bowed shoulders and in the recesses of her eyes. Regret was a fickle creature. It always came too late.

“I hope you find what you wanted,” I whispered to her soul, waiting to feel the energy that usually infused my body during a crossover. As she blinked out, all air was ripped from my lungs and I was left clutching the bedpost for purchase, grappling for oxygen and drowning on the echo of Carly’s anguish. The room spun around me, and my rasping heaves hurt my chest as I struggled to survive the sharp, bitter sting of loss that clung to the drapes and walls and assaulted my nose with its acrid scent.

I inhaled deep breaths when air returned, staring at the pool of red on the floor, thankful the bedspread had been black. She looked like a zombie, gray and without light, her once green eyes staring into a void that held nothing for her now. Without thinking about it, I reached forward and closed her lids with the lightest touch of my fingertips. The hands of Death.

“Blake,” my mother warned again, a chastising edge to the velvety lilt of her voice. 

I turned to look at her and sighed, feeling the darkness in the girl’s room overwhelm me, irritation surging inside me at my mother’s emotionless manner. “Don’t you care?” I asked.

She stepped forward from the shadows, her shroud of black hair sweeping around the marble pallor of her face. “Of course,” she said. But I had a hard time believing her when her features remained composed in an expression of sculpted apathy. “But it is what it is, Blake.”

“This was the worst.”

“I’ve seen much worse,” she said, her voice lacking the deep resonance of human compassion. It was flat, a monotone observer in a world colored by grief and heartbreak.

“Gee, thanks, way to make me feel better about this whole gig.”

“That wasn’t really my intent. This is who you are. You will have to deal with tragedies that far surpass this.
Tragedies far more encompassing. This was one girl. Be grateful it wasn’t thousands.”

I could barely look at her, nauseated by the way she acted as if one girl hadn’t been everything to someone. I opened my mouth to retort with something equally nasty, my body tensed to storm past her for the last time, but I was caught in mid-motion by a soft knock at the door. My head swiveled.

“Carly?” A soft voice came from the other side, concern coating the lightness of her tone.
Oh god, I absolutely could not stick around to watch Carly's parents find their daughter dead from suicide on her comforter.

Turning quickly, I pulled a fleecy black blanket, folded so carefully before, up over the girl’s chest, trying to make the scene look less gruesome before I headed to the window.

“I’m outta here,” I told my mother. To her credit, she didn’t try to stop me with more inane platitudes.

“You could just flicker out,” she said dryly. The doorknob was turning, and I shook my head. I’d tried her way of traveling through realms to no avail. If I was going to make an exit, it was going to have to be the human way.

I hurled myself through the open window onto the tree outside without thought of my physical safety, only glancing back once to see that my mom had already disappeared.

Sliding down the tree, I hit the ground with a grunt, my sneaker-clad feet stinging from the impact. I didn’t pause, pumping my legs to power myself down the sleeping streets as fast as I could to get as much distance as possible from the death scene. But I didn’t run fast enough, because her mother’s shrieks of agony followed me from two blocks away. They don’t ever think about who they leave behind.
I blocked my ears and kept running, the late winter air biting at my cheeks with the hope of spring hanging heavy in the wind, even on such a desperate night.

When I got to my own house, I paused at the stoop, sucking in a few breaths and trying to make the images in my head go away. Smoothing back my long, dark hair, so like my mother’s, I checked my hands for hints of blood. But just like any normalcy that had previously existed in my life, the blood I’d seen stain my fingers had vanished. Licking my lips, I put my key in the door and pushed it open, stepping into the foyer.

My dad looked up from the living room, where his nose was buried in a book. “Hey, B,” he said, taking off his glasses and rubbing tired eyes. “What are you doing here? I thought you were staying at the dorm tonight.” He arched his brows and glanced at the cable box clock that glowed a green 11:15 p.m.

“Yeah, I was going to, but Shelby wanted me to stop by her parents’—you know, it’s weekly game night—so I figured that since I was so close, I’d just crash here tonight. I’d better get a little reading in though, so 'night, Dad.”

He didn’t stop me or question me, which I was thankful for. I bounded up the steps to my room. Movies always made it look so easy, but living a double life was going to be the death of me. Pun intended.
After closing my bedroom door behind me, I sat down on my bed, tossed off my shoes, and quickly headed for the bathroom to shower. My skin felt dirty with the cloak of death, and I wanted to wash it away. Even though I knew it was impossible.

I was struck by my reflection as I closed the door behind me and turned to the medicine cabinet. It was like looking at a younger version of my mother. Only my eyes were a pale crystal blue. Hers were black. I was thankful for the difference.

But what we had in common even more than looks was a legacy. A long one. You might have heard of her before; she’s really quite famous, although most stories have gotten it wrong and made her out to be a dude. She goes by the name Grim, but her full name is Grim Reaper. Do you know what that makes my mother? Yep, that’s “right. She’s Death.

So what does that make me? The Reaper’s daughter.
 
                       ***

When people think death costumes at Halloween, it's fairly easy to find a Grim Reaper costume. But through my research writing about deities I've found there are far more than I ever realized. Of course, some I was familiar with before I started. Most people know Hades, as he's often depicted in literature and Greek mythology as one of the more popular and well-known mythologies. But we are a world of many cultures, so here are five different death deities that would make for fun and unique costumes:

Kali: Her very name means "She who is Death" or "She who is Black." Kali is a Hindu goddess, and she's long been a favorite. She is associated with empowerment, while she also been called the destroyer. Appearance wise, I usually see her depicted as being blue with many arms and a necklace of decapitated heads. You might have to get creative with the arms, but don't worry about necessarily painting yourself entirely blue, she's depicted in a number of hues. Unless of course you want to paint yourself blue. After all, Halloween only comes around once a year. Going blue might be fun. You can also get your inner Miley Cyrus on, because in some depictions, Kali likes sticking her tongue out. Regardless of which way you decide to dress yourself up, Kali could be a pretty bad-ass costume. I think I have an idea for next year!

Anubis: This Egyptian protector of the dead is often depicted as either a canine or with a canine head, wearing black or shirtless with a toga-like garment around his waist. This could be interesting ... (visions of a shirtless dog-headed husband dance in my head). Okay, that might be kind of weird, but that's what Halloween is for! And Anubis also has a female counterpart, Anput, who very occasionally is depicted with a dog head as well. Can you say couples costume!

Atropos: One of the three Moirai, better known as the Fates, Atropos cuts the threads with her shears. This is definitely one for the girlfriends, because this Greek goddess of death could easily be paired with her two sisters, Clothos, the spinner, and Lachesis, who measures lives. All three friends need do is don Greek-style robes or togas, and each one carry a different tool: scissors, needle and thread, and a tailor's measuring tape.  

Santa Muerte: Okay, so she's not totally abstract, but I love her and I'm actually being her for Halloween. I'm a bit in love with the Mexican Day of the Dead art, and she's a character in The Reaper's Daughter, otherwise known as Sebastiana, and she's just my favorite. She's an easy one to do because most costume shops sell facial decals to give your face the colorful, day of the dead appearance, plus there are plenty of Mexican Day of the Dead costumes now available. I'm not using any of them, of course, because they're the "sexy" costumes, and not Santa Muerte specific, but I am using the decals and some makeup for my face. If the results come out as I hope, I'll definitely post a spooky Halloween selfie. 

Santa Muerte isn't just a deity, she's actually a Mexican folk saint, and she's venerated. She's often depicted with a cloak and scythe, and sometimes with black angel's wings. See why I want to be her for Halloween?

Mythology in itself is vastly fascinating because these stories have been crafted from age-old beliefs within any given culture. Whatever you decide to be, remember that the personification of Death has many forms, so in stories and in real life, honoring other cultures by knowing more about their mythology and beliefs can also open the doorways to creativity. 

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