Death Gets a Makeover -- An Excerpt

by Tina Jens

Death wore a dress. It was a frilly, little black brocade-and-satin number with a flared skirt that came down to mid-femur.

Death felt like a fool. As an immortal -- as a skeleton -- Death had no gender. Humanity had cast him? her? it? in a male role, but it was an arbitrary decision made aeons ago. Death had decided to try another persona on for a change.

As s/he critically surveyed the image in the mirror hanging on the back of her bedroom door, she realized that she wasn't woman enough to pull off the DKNY chic mini-dress look. Besides, a dress like that needed high heels, and how well could she wield the sickle while toddling around on stiletto spikes?

With a sigh, she shrugged out of the dress. Her left olecranon hooked on one of the spaghetti straps and she panicked as she struggled to free her shoulder from the trap.

Letting the garment fall to the floor, she slipped into a black dressing gown, and out of her room. Her calcanei clicked quietly on the marble floor as she walked down the Valhalla hall.

There was a reason Death wore a heavy robe when out reaping the grim harvest. With very little skin, and no hair, those midnight collections could get chilly, not to mention the saddle sores that came from riding the pale horse without any padding. But did her robe have to be black? It was time to consult an expert for some fashion advice...

If you'd like to read the rest of the story, you can order the book Dangerous Dames from Twilight Tales.

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