I love hummingbirds. They are such peculiar little creatures, so bright, so hard to spot. Their flight recalls an illusion of perpetual motion and appears to me as a living metaphor of the never-ending cycle of life and death. And they are so tiny and cute! I just can’t get enough of tiny, cute things.

Did you know that hummingbirds were regarded as messengers of the Otherworld by some South American cultures? I’ve always felt an affinity for these birds, especially the ones that flaunt those astonishing metallic turquoise feathers.

So, when I was told to choose my Otherworld form, my real form, I used them as my inspiration.

I should explain. All the Otherworld agents that have to roam the Earth as part of their duties are required to have two shapes. One for the human realm and one for the other. This mostly applies to those who have to interact with the humans, like the Chancegivers (I’ll tell you more about them later) or folk like me that deal with their souls.

So, I kept my original human shape to do my job on Earth. I could have changed it if I had wanted, made myself taller or shorter, paler or darker, male or female, but I thought it was too much of a hassle. After all, I lived 25 human years under this appearance without any complications; I might as well keep it for old times’ sake. Like a flesh memento of sorts.

In regards the Otherworld form… well, that was different. Your shape outside the physical boundaries of the human realm is a blank canvas, an endless catalog of possibilities, and it depends on one factor and one factor alone: imagination.

In the Otherworld, you can be whatever you want to be. The only restriction is that you’ll have to keep your form forever once you define it. They have an official register with pictures and everything. The more imaginative you are, the more spectacular you can be.

I absolutely lack that wondrous creative spark. I was close to keeping my human form in the Otherworld too, as I couldn’t for the life of me think of anything more interesting. The lady in charge of the Shape Register Office kindly took me to a dark gallery where they kept portraits of all the Ankous that had ever been Spirits of Departure before me, so I could pick up some inspiration. I’m sure she meant well, but I have to confess that my lineage seemed to be cursed by a most disturbing ingenuity drought. They all looked the same, I swear. They were gloomy as hell and a rip-off of every single stereotype of Death you could possibly think about. Skulls, bones, black cloaks, chains, those horrible scythes! Clothing changed a bit here and there; one of them even added a creepy pair of dark wings, but nothing more than that. The only agreeable thing about the paintings was the discreet presence of a yellow butterfly in the background. I wondered what it was. Maybe a signature from the artist?

The lady noticed my hesitation and suggested that I think about something I liked. A color, an object, music? Anything from which I could steal a hint of originality.

I like hummingbirds, I said, mechanically. I’m certain I must have looked like a deer in front of bright car lights.

And what do you like about them? she asked, with the professional patience of a school professor trying to teach mathematics to a kid stubbornly inclined towards the right side of the brain.

The way they fly. As if they were floating. And their color. Some of them are turquoise. That’s pretty.

Well, that does sound lovely, dear. Maybe there’s something you can do with that, don’t you think?

I guess. And how do I...well, do that? Is there a changing room I should go to, or—?

Just think about it and see what happens. You’ll figure it out as you go, trust me. I’ll be waiting at the office to register you once you’re done. Take your time, she added.

I wish I could describe in detail how changing my Otherworldly shape felt, but I’m chatty enough as it is and you would never hear the end of it. To keep it nice and simple, you think about it, it happens. I did my best to take everything I admired about hummingbirds and smash it against the mental image I had of myself. I had the rational wish to turn myself into a bright turquoise angel, but I was struggling to picture that in my head and most unfortunately the grim images of my ancestors had contaminated my subconscious, so I ended up turning myself into…well…a mess.

To say it bluntly, I look like a monstrous human-hummingbird-skeleton hybrid that woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

At least I got the turquoise feathers part right.

Once I had changed, I felt so mentally exhausted I assumed I had killed my imaginative resources for the rest of the afterlife, so I just went with it. At least it was nothing like the typical creepy Ankou figurine that had been glooming down that picture gallery since the beginning of time. Mine was a different kind of creepy.

You must be wondering why on Earth I’m telling you all of this. Oh, dear. You’re going to kill me or stop reading this very instant, I’m sure. All I meant to say was that I guided Gabriel into the Otherworld after he died and that I was glad his eyes were blurry again... otherwise, he would have been horrified by my true form.

Oh well. It had to be explained somehow, right? Better now than never, I always say.

Where were we? Oh, right. Gabriel and I, hand in hand, walking into the Otherworld.

I tried to let go as soon as we crossed the Threshold, for he was bound to notice that my hand was morphing into a freakish claw between his fingers, but he held on even tighter.

He felt the change indeed, and as his eyesight was still blurred, he bent down to examine my fingers. There was a slight change in both of us, now that we were in the Otherworld. Very roughly said, we were now made of the same matter, so the contact between us felt…different. Gabriel was fascinated by the feathery texture of my claws, so much that he didn’t seem to care that he was holding hands with a monster. He held my claw firmly at the level of his eyes, and with his other hand he passed his fingers through my feathers. This was actually the first time I had ever been touched since I died myself, and the feeling sent a most alarming wave of shivers down my spine. I stopped abruptly and yanked my claw away.

He seemed surprised by my reaction and squinted his eyes to see me better. He walked towards me and smiled again.

Feathers. Bird.

“N-no, I’m not a bird, I’m—”

Angel?

Oh, dear God.

I just stood there, confused, my mind completely blank. Gabriel reached out for my hand again. Once more, he looked up, and down, and asked.

Where?

“I told you, I’m sending you back! Now, please, follow me, we really have to go,” I whined.

“Ankou, what on Earth are you doing? What is that thing?”

I froze for a good couple of seconds. I turned my head slowly in a state of mind not very different from panic. I was so flustered I completely forgot I was strolling hand in hand with a soul in the middle of the Otherworld entrance hall. And worst of all, I recognized that voice.

An Artisan. And not just any Artisan, the Head Artisan. The most powerful of them all, the one rumored to be insane, the one they advised you to avoid as discreetly and politely as you could.

Andrew.