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𓂀𝔾𝕦𝕚𝕝𝕥𝕪ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕔𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖𓂀
꧁༺_____________༻꧂
SHE DIDN'T REMEMBER how she got there. She looked around everywhere, going through her memories of how she was sitting in the armchair in front of the fireplace. Staring deep into the fire, she realised that her vision was blurring in the edges. That should have been her first indication.
She was brought out of her confused thoughts by the doorbell ringing. As she got up from the chair to go to the front door, she realised that the room barely had any shadows, being completely illuminated by either the raging flames or the sun that was shining through the open windows. That should have been her second indication.
Twisting the door handle and opening it, she was greeted with the sight of an old man dressed in modern mortal clothing, a shirt of pale pastel blue shirt tucked into a pair of khaki pants, his only protection against the slight breeze was a matching khaki blazar. His face was covered in a thick white beard, his silver hair brushed back. But what gave him away was the gold eyepatch that revealed to Maeve who he was. However she questioned nothing, not his sudden expression or his lack of proper clothing, not when she realised he wore an expression of utmost sadness and guilt, his one eye refusing to meet hers.
She was going to ask him what was wrong when she saw the coffin behind him. She'd never seen one before and she had hoped she never would. All she knew about it was that it was a Midgardian custom to bury their dead in.
It was a simple rectangular box, wooden with no additional ornaments and decorations, big enough for an adult to fit in.
Now Maeve was smart, and with the sorrow on the man's face and the adult-sized coffin right behind him, she came to a conclusion. A conclusion that she didn't even want to acknowledge.
"Don't tell me", she whispered ever so softly. The man finally looked up after studying the patio flooring, meeting her eyes. The soft layer of unshed tears in his eye- it said he was mourning, but she was too scared to ask who he was mourning.
She didn't want him to tell her anything, to confirm her rising sense of dread. But he did.
With a cracking voice, he said, "I'm sorry."
She stood their frozen, unseeing of everything. She didn't need his to explain, not when she knew. Not when she knew that the person who taught her, loved her, raised her as her own was dead.
The darkness of misery and grief swirling in her head was put to a temporary stop when she heard the creaking of something. Looking around for the source of the sound, she saw the lid of the coffin opening up. Both her and the man watched confused and scared as a the lid was pushed off from the rest of the box, clattering to the floor. That's when they understood that it was pushed from the inside.
