My first short story read for Carl's Once Upon a Time III challenge.
You think you know this story. You do not.
You think it comes from Ireland, from Norway, from Spain. It does not. You have heard it in Hebrew, in Swedish, in German. You have read it in French, in Italian, in Greek.
It is not a story, though many mouths have made it that way.
It is true.
How do I know? Death, herself told me. She told me in that whispery voice she saves for special tellings. She brushed her thick black hair away from that white forehead, and told me.
I have no reason to disbelieve her. Death does not know how to lie. She has no need to.
Death is tapped on the shoulder one day and asked to be the Godmother to a peasant child just about to be born. Shocked at the request she complies and promises to look after her godson when he becomes a man.
Despite his peasant background Death transforms the young man into a world famous doctor, a doctor who knows just who will die and who will not. For years this is successful until the doctor is rushed to the side of a beautiful dieing princess, struck by her beauty he tries to trick Death.
This story can be found on the wonderful Endicott Website here