CHAPTER SIXTEEN
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It was a very dreary phase. The sky was as black and boundless as the lake outside the mansion, and the moons were vivid like three large bowls of milk. Madam Elenora, The Mortem Bearer of 18. Just like the moons and the Mortem's living under it. Beautiful, bright, a leader. She considered herself to be very lucky. Like all of the dismal downs that trail with life, there is always room to heal from it. Elenora Elizabeth Bourdeleau was a woman to realize this through the war between humans and death. Why fear it? Death is not something to fear unless your soul is tainted like that of the lost. This she read in the Tier Head Archives and lived by it ever since. Like any who loses a loved one unexpectedly, she must carry grief, and that she did. Sadness played a great role in her life in The Tier for a great while, the work of a leader spreading her thin. It still took a toll on her now and then, but the remanence from the shocking and emotional beginning wasn't as strong now, phases later, which translated into months. After weeks and weeks, and month after month, she found herself smiling more, laughing more as the rearing hurt began to lift away from her heavy heart. Reading books from the library to pull her mind from burdens and sadness when the woman wasn't occupied with work. These uplifted her, bringing strength and perseverance to her conscience. Carrying on was a feat that did not leave her unscathed. Madam was tired, latent in the first stages of grief, visiting the mausoleum frequently. At times she would visit Ann, who now owned a residence in the Tier, and that only placed her happiness higher and higher on the list of feelings. It inches farther and farther, slow but gaining in time, for in her, time could heal all. Only, something in her voice forever went missing. A light, an effervescent tone that took her melodic voice all her life, now lost. As for Elenora, the picture of the two together in the South Hold long ago when The Mortem Tier Head secured the bases with her, was kept tucked away in her fan pocket, worn with her everyday, unnoticed by all unless she took it out. Every once and awhile bringing it to her attention when she was alone, remembering the beginning of it all, how ancient those times felt, how perfect, how safe. Through it all, it made her smile, to see his face before it was taken over. Under the stern, relentless and hard working aura, was sensitivity and kindness and she missed that ever so much.
Even if this was the actions of a foolish human, she could not repress sneaking down to the mausoleum. To remember the words he wrote to her and looking at his face beneath the preservative liquid, to obliterate the memories of how he got like that, recognizing that he remained inside there somewhere. That he loved her. That visiting him there, she fell in love with him more and more every day. At times feeling more restless than others for unknown reasons. Feeling the presence of his soul, but left as latent as she. It was a battle in her head, to seize her sanity in the beginning, but the only way to do that was to tread into the enemy's territory and kill them all. A dangerous game with a rich benefit. Eventually, she did, and she felt comfort underneath the mansion and the tranquil atmosphere.
Some days there on more lengthy than others. Through these days, slow realization blanketed her mind. She did not know how many sets of phases has gone by since the day, but through these sets of phases, day after day, week after week, month after month, she began to realize that she would be alright. That she, even though she'd rather not be, was alright alone. Elenora could get along by herself, and a simple thing, after all of this tragedy, was under her nose the whole time. Something so simple. A lesson that Madam learned, a situation that she had to learn to accept. Madam Elenora's contribution to the only book with pictures of lineage, memories, and notes in a glass case in the library, was written carefully and set between the pages.
"Time is not friendly. Not to death. Not to humans. Yet it is all we have. It comes in abundance, in plenty, more to others, less to some, and it is indescribably easy to waste. Life is temporary, and death is inevitable. When we as humans reach a halfway mark in our time, we will not know until the end. One may have yet to reach their halfway mark with life, and one may have already ran long past theirs, yet they waste their time still, as if they know when Death approaches. Time is not here for one to waste pointlessly with minor inconveniences and sadness. What one may think important, will not matter to Death when he comes.
-MB18"
