Author's Note - In this story, I took the position that 'Red Death' was not just the personification of the disease Red Death, but also the personification of Death himself. Meaning, Red Death was not just symbolically representing the virus permeating the nobles in the palace, but also a Grim Reaper like being who had come, in person, to kill the partygoers.

Red Death sat flaccidly on the armrest of one of the numerous golden thrones dotting the royal chambers of Prince Prospero's castle. Once again cloaked in his blood-drenched raiment, he surveyed with a lustful, pleasure-filled, ancient and practiced eye the damage he had wrought on the party of lords and ladies here in the citadel. He need not rise from the seat of royalty he was perched on to travel to the Black room at hallway's end, to view, for his enjoyment, the disfigured victim of his rampage, for it was as if the walls did not exist at all. Mere physical barriers were of no hindrance to him; distance had no diminishing effect on his vision. His arm was long reaching, and the full consequence of his power, when unleashed – globally devastating. In fact, there was only one power in the whole universe capable of stopping him and his vicious abilities, and ironically enough, it was that very power than had sent him on this path of annihilation in the first place…

G-d sat on His own throne up in Heaven, and observed the death and the horror going on in His world below. It was necessary that He allow such a disease to strike in such a terrible and appalling way. There was a plan in place that required the outbreak of this plague, and though it pained Him terribly to see humanity suffer, it was for the best. G-d was not available for answering 'Why' questions. He had the matter of Prince Prospero, another victim of the epidemic, to take care of. True, He had given the many knights and dames of the kingdom who sheltered with Prospero ample time to realize the grave sin of sequestering themselves away in the stronghold while their brethren outside perished. But, He was a wholly merciful and benevolent G-d, and took pity on Prospero's soul, for it would burn in Hell for the crimes it had committed, and caused others to commit. The brazenness of Prospero's actions, and the hubris with which he spoke, would have to be forgiven in order for the Prince's soul to be redeemed. G-d was ready to forgive; He only needed Prospero to ask. And so he turned back the clock on this individual human's life to just before midnight on the night of the man's death…

Red Death was jolted to lucidity by the loud, booming voice of the great ebony clock in the westernmost chamber of the masquerade hallway. It had begun to chime.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Silent for so long, the sound of the majestic clock resonating once again in the abbey created eerie, disconcerting results. But there was no person present to hear it, save Red Death himself, and he was certainly not human, and therefore did not experience the fear it had so often produced in the past. All of the other occupants of the castle were dead, or so Red Death thought. For as he rounded the final corner of the hallway, from the violet colored room into the scarlet hued one, tripod flames igniting as he past, he saw an astonishing sight.

A mortal – a human being – one of the many nobles robbed of his soul on the dance floor so recently, was twitching and writhing by the feet of the long clock, at the end of the chamber. The spilled blood from the thousand murdered nobles had long since congealed, and the man's jerky movements disrupted the smooth surface of the thickened liquid. His limbs splayed out in painful contortions, then contracted in on themselves again. Wild, unseeing eyes shot open and closed in uncoordinated patterns, while his breath – for there was, undeniably, moisture issuing from the gentleman's gaping mouth – came in short, ragged spurts of air.

Then Red Death raised his eyes to the clock to see the scarlet colored hands on the face of the chronometer spinning wildly backward – the second, a blur he could barely see; the minute, just a dark line on the surface of the clock; and the hour, a quickly moving pointer. Brass pendulum no longer a monotonous, rhythmic clang; on the contrary, it was a series of erratic, inconsistent, chimes. And through all this, that great, black, monster of a timekeeper, continued it's relentless barrage of music.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

Boom.

There was a sudden sucking sound, as a fatal chest wound that the human had received reopened, and began drinking foul blood from the pools of the crimson liquid lying stagnant on the floor. His skin quickly turned from a chalky, gauntness to the pinkish, peachy hues of a living man. No, not just 'man' anymore. Red Death recognized the body now. It was 'The man' - Prospero himself – whom he now faced. Again the clock chimed, and faster spun the clock hands.

Boom.

Boom.

"Two more," Red Death murmured. He understood what was happening, even if he couldn't fathom its purpose. Prospero was being brought back.

Boom.

There was a low, whooshing sound, and Red Death immediately felt the presence of a soul permeate the chamber and hover over the still convulsing body of Prince Prospero. The soul slid into the stiff, decomposed, remains of the once proud lord with a sharp pop –

the clock hands all froze at the midnight hour , the final Boom was heard

- and then everything was silent.

With a first shuddering gasp, Prince Prospero gained consciousness. At first confused, then sensing his own existence, he was distantly aware of his body lying in a hot, steamy puddle of water. Comfortable enough, he didn't bother checking to verify his assumptions. The next alerting feeling to his own presence in the world of the living was his eyes. Flickering, fiery patterns reflecting off of the ceiling danced across his face, forming intricate, crystal like shapes underneath his closed eyelids. The smell hit him next. A putrid, rotten odor that he could practically taste as he licked his lips. It was this that made him peer through blurry eyes to determine what was about. He could hear nothing.

A heavy groan escaped his lips as he rolled up and over onto his knees. Swaying a little, he blinked and caught sight of his dagger resting in a spill of some sort of ruby colored liquid looking oddly like blood, but couldn't possibly b– It was!

Staggering upright, nearly blinded by the strong torchlight, and shimmering shadows, he turned toward the room's entrance to get out. Yonder stood the figure; a tall, motionless, shrouded, blood-speckled, gaunt, shape.

With a rush of memories, it all came back to him. The plague. His invitations to a thousand other nobles like himself to join him in the shelter of his fortress. The partying. The Masquerade Ball. Finally, the masked stranger's appearance, rushing at him with his dagger, and then… No, he had no memory for after that.

Wait! His companions, his fellow revelers, where were they? What had happened to them? Looking across the floor of the black room, he found his answer. Piles of fallen, crumpled, broken humans littered the surface of the chamber. Some horribly disfigured, others barely recognizable.

With a sudden, fierce anger, and a desire to avenge his comrades' spilled blood, he let loose a howl of rage and indignation, and for the second time that night rushed at Red Death.

"Oh! Will this mortal never learn," cried Red Death to himself in exasperation. Preparing to once again strike down Prospero, Red Death raised his arms -

"Do not touch him!" boomed a voice to Red Death alone. Red Death recoiled from the sound. He knew where it originated: A being of unimaginable power, someone even he was subservient to. It had the ability to raise walls that Red Death himself couldn't pass, and open doors locked even to Red Death.

"Do not touch him," rumbled the voice again. "Until I give you permission. If he does not repent, you may claim him. But if he admits his faults and begs for forgiveness, then he is mine. You shall have no power over him, and he has no place in your dominion."

Reaching Red Death now, Prospero tried repeatedly to stab inside the folds of the stranger's shroud, and ultimately discovered, like his guests had, that the material was uninhabited by any human body. Realizing the futileness of his actions (killing Death probably wouldn't be as effective as he would like) he made a break for the front door. Wrenching the solid stone double-doors open after having been closed for months normally would have taken ten able men at least, but Prospero achieved it on adrenaline alone. As the sunshine streamed into the gloomy abbey halls, Prospero gazed out over his kingdom below, and called out in an anguished voice.

"What have I done? What have I done? I have abandoned my brothers in their greatest hour of need and for what? We knights could not escape the pestilence any more than you peasants could. I have failed in my responsibilities to my people. I have done wrong to those entrusted into my care. Now I live in a ruined, desolate, depopulated land. I know why I was destined to survive this madness. Not out of any merit of mine, or special skill I possessed. Rather it is a punishment. To live now, I am a Prince with no citizens, and a Prince with no one serving him is no Prince at all. I have been cruelly punished for my crimes against humanity, and my attitude toward Death. Here he is now, come to take me away, too. I welcome it. Death would be a blessing after what I have seen, and what I have caused. Oh, G-d in Heaven, I have denied Your existence for too long; well, I validate it now. Forgive me for the sins I have done in this world - make them meaningless in the next. After I am gone, aid those fortunate souls lucky enough to survive this epidemic by building their lives up again. Finally, remove the Red Death from upon the face of the Earth forever. Forgive me! Forgive me!"

A soft, white glow descended from the sky and engulfed Prince Prospero's body in full. A few moments later, the white light rose back up again, and the empty remains of Prince Prospero limply collapsed to the ground.

Red Death stepped over to examine the corpse. Satisfied that there was no breath of life left in the man, he turned away. Without a backward glance, Red Death ascended to the Heaven from whence he'd come. Afterward…

Peace and Prosperity and Hope held illimitable dominion over all.

If you stuck with me, I hope this provided an enjoyable read. Reviews of any kind are most welcome and appreciated.