The Storyteller (freewrite)

He was a titan of a man and towered over the little girl.
'Why hello,' he said, outstretching a hand and the little one took it, for she was small and frightened and alone.
This is not your time, Death thought, walking the child away from the accident that had claimed the life of her sister. The girl had been driving and she really should have known better, what with a little one in the back. But humans rarely do. They have this notion that they are immortal, that whatever silly and dangerous thing they might do, they'll be just fine.
Until they meet him and they...see things from a different point of view.
The girl walks after the tall, towering man, not making a sound. She doesn't know what to say to him, not because she's scared of him. Children have always understood Death in a way grown-ups never can. No, she's silent because she understands she's no longer...there. It's as if she's suddenly left the atmosphere and she wonders, in passing, if this is what astronauts feel when their rocket booms out.
Guess she'll never know, now.

'Where are you going?' a voice asks behind them and when they turn, more for the girl's benefit than Death's, they're face to face with another tall, imposing man, although he seems far less kind, in the girl's eyes.
'Metatron,' Death sighs and squeezes the girl's hand. All will be well, little thing. 'I am taking this girl away.'
'But her time has come, why have you not sent her on her way?' the one called Metatron asks, in a most menacing voice.
'It is not her time, brother, not yet. There are stories in her that are yet to be spoken, things to be seen.'
'No longer,' the new-comer replies, full of anger. 'She lost all that back there,' he says, gesturing to the flaming crash. In the distance, you can hear sirens of salvation, but it is too late.
'No,' Death says simply. 'She shall come with me and I advise you to leave me be, Metatron. This is not up to you and you have no power over her anymore. She is not of the living now. She belongs entirely to me.'
The Angel of Life shakes his head, muttering something about a grave mistake and vanishes from view. 'Don't worry, he can't bother us anymore,' Death whispers to the little one and, holding her hand, they cross over into the Realm of Death, where Death builds her palaces and armies of toys and gives her free reign to create anything she might like. Almost.
And each time Death returns from his journeys, the little girl is there, waiting for him. Death, the towering titan comes into her made-up room, stooping so as not to break the light bulb with his scythe and he sits down by the little girl and listens.

Even Death loves a good story.

This actually started as a #vss (very short story) over on Twitter, going from the prompt word 'titan' and it was basically the first four lines of this story. But then, I kept thinking about the story, like there was something more to tell, so I figured I'd join it with today's freewrite, which started from the prompt 'bulb' (courtesy of @mariannewest - check her out!).

Thank you for reading,

Photo taken by me.