Ruby

[ooc: Hard, hard prompt to write, given my faith, but I felt such a prompt had to be done. Could be considered pre-canon, but written with Impostor in mind. Quoted text is from Ecclesiastes 3:1-2.]

Death. It came for everyone. The rich and the poor, the beautiful and the grotesque, the righteous and the wicked, whatever their plight, all would succumb.

"To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die—"

It was not a truth she wished to hear, not now, not ever, and surely not from that Book. She had heard it over and over and over again these past few years. It tore at her mind like the thorns Christ had been crowned with on the day of His crucifixion, the day He supposedly gave His life for them all.

Ridiculous nonsense, she thought. If He cared, He would have stopped this. He would have prevented this constant state of mourning, held back this plague that was upon them. She certainly tried to do so with her family, but the words spoken over her younger sister told her she was failing. It was not her time to die. It should not have been.

For attempting what He refused to do, she would be punished. When death finally came for her, she would be damned to spend her eternity in His prison for her witchcraft. She wouldn't look forward to the horrors that awaited her, but if that was the kind of God He was, she thought it better to be where He was not.