The Waiting Room.

6-the retreat.

A bright sky with a black moon. Billions of eyes well with astonishment. A local few, with Monroe as a radius, sting. He stared for hours, studying the process, and found peace in the solar system mourning with him. The Mayor felt no company, and considered that he may never truly heal. In my age, he thought, it's entirely possible. Monroe shuddered. He found himself thoughtless. He felt nothing but the notion that this wasn't supposed to happen. Sau was supposed to live, this he would know for the rest of his life. Sphagnales recklessly braided into his hair, twisting into his roots and becoming another thing about himself he wished was clean. The sky frowned at him, swaying endlessly as he just laid there. The solar system rolled its eyes at Earths atmosphere, and squinted to watch such a minuscule transaction. Zzzzznnnnnnnn hnnnnnnnnn, the universe chuckled. Monroe released his curls from the moss, and returned home to bathe before the Retreat.

The library had been vacant for a few days, but as Palmira sat in the vestibule, staring at her master key in the interior lock, an emptiness permeated the building that made the librarian's knees weak. She had been home for the days following Sau's demise, only able to weep and think. She pretended to breath as she hyperventilated. The podium was set up earlier that morning, which terrified Palmira. Nothing caused her a greater sickness than hosting such a treacherous event.

In my place of work, she thought. For my life, I am condemned to tie this place to her. Right there, she glared. Right there we will all honour her, then let her be dead for the rest of time. Nothing has ever been so unfair, she grieved.

Herma knocked on the exterior glass. "I wrote a poem." Palmira shifted, reaching for the knob to let her girlfriend inside. They sat side by side, knees tucked in, and shivering. "You left the heating off?"

"Furnace was fractured in the earthquake." The librarian spoke plainly. Herma simply nodded.

"Are you going in?"

"Does it matter?" She contemplated.

"Well, I suppose we could host the Retreat outdoors.." Herma trailed.

"I've been thinking a lot the passed couple days. I have not been able to cast a single thought out of my head. I'm just a collector now. I look at my palms, my legs, my shoulders, all I can see is atoms full of thoughts. But when I truly look at myself, the only thing I know is I'd rather die than open the library tomorrow and allow her death to be lost to an entire collection of events. To be an outcome of a disaster independent from her life."

"You know, I see her." Palmira whipped her gaze to Hermas'.

"What does she look like?"

"Sometimes I'll tip a stone over and watch her materialize, or quickly open a door."

"How can you tell it's Sau?" Palmira requested.

"At first it was difficult. She couldn't walk. Growth must operate disparate from our world. Sopphel found her early in her Retreat, so I concluded she repaired Sau personally. About two days ago I saw her as herself again. Her hair is glossy, and constantly styled as finger-waves now. She must have twenty rings on. Yesterday she told me she had a howlite set on a sterling silver band. She offered me a look not twenty minutes ago. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, but I guess she's truly gone now. I left iced tea for her on the dining table, though I'm not sure how long she can drink it for."

Palmira lost herself in the creases of her hands. She tweaked her fingers up and down, waiting. She wrinkled in the joints, and housed a great collection of papercut scars. Her nails had been devoured to the core, and most bled at any touch. She felt a hollow shivering as she listened to Herma, focusing on the movement to remain conscious. She held her mouth open with the intent of speaking, until she did. "I was thinking we could hold it next to the portcullis. The river flows through it, which might sound nice. Comforting."