Based on characters and situations created by Charles Dickens and Neil Gaiman.
Chapter the First:
We the Undersigned
“There has been a consensus then?” asked the solemn, draped and hooded figure that faced Jacob.
“Absolutely.” The ghost answered. “It’s taken six years, but we’re finally all agreed. He is the one.”
“Very well.” The figure declared, turning a page in it’s book. “Three of my family shall visit him on the birth of your lord. Prepare yourself.”
With that, Jacob Marley found himself alone once more. He tightened the bandage holding his mouth together and drifted, collecting his strength for the encounter he knew must come. Six years since he had died. Nearing seven now. The weight of his chain bore him down still, despite his hope that he’d have grown accustomed to it. One year to form the plan and learn the particulars of how it could be done. And five more to convince the other souls that it SHOULD be done, and it should be Scrooge that should be chosen. Each wished to intervene for good in human affairs, and had largely lost the power, but there was hope yet. Every century, a single human soul could be given a chance to avert the fate that awaited it, if only there were those who would speak for them. Jacob saw saving Scrooge as an opportunity to save himself in a way. Though he knew his chains would never be shed, nor those of any of those who petitioned with him, his ethereal heart lightened to know that if Scrooge took heed, and changed, then Jacob, and the others, WOULD have succeeded in what they sorely wished to do, and help someone.
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“So,” Death asked, reclining in her seat, her brother’s raven perched on the back of the chair. “We get it?”
Destiny nodded. “It has been agreed upon. The chosen one, is Ebeneezer Scrooge.” He turned to his brother.
“My realm, as it has been in the past for this purpose, is at your disposal.” Dream declared before the eldest had a chance to speak.
Again, Destiny nodded. “Very well.”
“Not to rain on anyone’s parade here,” Desire said, stretching like a cat. “But one of our dear number isn’t here. And somehow, I can’t picture Dream, Despair, or Delirium putting on the wreath and giving the grand tour.”
“Zod messed the scary Gentlemen, let frothing you delay…” Delirium was singing.
“I think Del would look cute in the wreath and robe.” Death giggled, ruffling her youngest sister’s hair. Del retaliated by changing her hair into hair.
“So there.” She muttered, though a grin was on her face.
Destiny held up a hand for silence. His book was open. “Destruction will be there. There is no need to fret. About that.”
The Endless sat for a moment, in silence. Then, Despair spoke up. “Think THIS one will listen?”