Rigor mortis had already set in, but I managed to wrestle her fingers open.

The hand writing was smudged and illegible in places, but it was evidence enough.

Evidence that this friend of mine was not beloved by everyone, No tip of the hat, no kiss of the ring.

Just a knife to the heart, we trick ourselves into thinking that we are immortal. Not true.

What this fine lady had written on the crumpled up piece of paper was almost funny.

Humans, at least the selfish ones, always try to bargain in the end.

But it takes two to make a deal, and obviously whoever she tried to haggle with wasn’t in the mood.

The note simply said: “Keep them back for just ten more years and you can have my great grandson instead. But like I said it takes two to make a deal.

The angelic blade in her shriveled up raisin-heart would probably put her out of the deal-making business forever. The sand had run out on her hourglass a long time ago.

The river Styx was waiting.