Lost Soul

Undertaker

The song for this chapter is 'My Boy Builds Coffins' by Florence and The Machine. All rights to respective owners.

"Always running."

Celine awoke with a start, with the feeling of being watched. She rose to her aching feet, and continued running. Since the laboratory wasn't too far from London, she decided to search for a job to earn money for food and clothing. She asked whoever would listen to help direct her to a place of work.

Celine's search led to an Undertaker, helping arranging flowers for burials. 'This should be interesting.' She thought. Celine was an aristocrat before her manor had burned, so she had no idea how to work or doing anything on her own except what she figured out. Which was burning a hospital and killing a few men. Celine shuffled her way to the door and knocked hesitantly. The door creaked open, and a spider-like hand grabbed her arm and yanked her inside.

"Are you applying for the intern position?" A voice inquired creepily, making the hairs on the back of Celine's neck stand on end.

"Y-yes." She stammered, not wanting to be turned away. Her stomach ached painfully; she hadn't eaten in days.

"Excellent! You're hired!"

The (what Celine assumed to be a) man, burst out laughing. He turned around and began to make a pot of tea when Celine speaks.

"Wait, you don't care that I'm blind?" She inquired incredulously, arching a pale eyebrow.

"Nope." He answered, popping the 'p' at the end. A relieved look appeared on her pale face.

"Good." She breathed out, she ran her hands through her mangy mop of platinum hair, which was filled with sticks, leaves, and traces of ash. Her feet were bare and bloody, and her clothes were too large on her tiny frame and in tatters. Scars coated her exposed arms and legs, and her clothes had multiple red stains on them.

"What's your name, love?" The man inquired gently, peering at the peculiar child through his silver locks.

"Celine Lockwood." She rolled on the balls of her feet, and whistled softly.

He looks closer at the child. Her cheekbones jutted out of her face, and through a hole in her shirt, he could see her ribs sticking out of her skin. She needed food. But it was Celine's eyes that intrigued him the most, though she claimed was blind, her eyes were a deep cerulean blue guarded by thick, dark lashes. On her emaciated face, her eyes were huge, giving her the appearance of a frightened doe.

"What pushed you to find a job like this with a pretty face like that?" He spoke softly, watching her movements and expressions carefully.

"My family died in a fire and I was kidnapped a few weeks later." She mumbled. Celine's parents and siblings had perished in the fire. She thanked her lucky stars for surviving Hell whenever she got the chance.

"Well." He paused, and glanced over the filthy girl. Her stomach growled loudly, and she smiled meekly.

"Sorry.." Her hollow cheeks had turned a faint pink, and her small smile revealed an array of pearly white, straight teeth. He chuckled softly, and turned around.

"Let's get you cleaned up and get you food. Then I'll show you what you'll be doing."

He led her to the bathroom upstairs, and filled the tub with warm, soapy water. He waited until she had began bathing to begin his search of suitable clothes. He searched through all the racks of clothes that he took off the bodies, but couldn't find anything small enough. He was determined to find something for the poor girl.

After twenty minutes of searching he found a simple black dress. The man began walking up the stairs when he heard what sounded like singing.

"Deep in the meadow, under the willow, a bed of grass, a soft green pillow...."

He continued up the stairs listening to her voice waft through the hallway and down the staircase. He didn't want Celine to stop singing, her voice was sorrowful and light at the same time.
But alas, he stepped on a creaky floorboard. Celine stopped singing abruptly, looking around before placing her head in her hands. He walked into the bathroom, asking if she needed help getting out of the tub and getting dressed. Celine accepted his offer and murmured her thanks.

After what felt like an eternity of silence, Celine crossed her arms and thought aloud.

"Is Undertaker really your name, or just an alias?"

Undertaker chuckled. "I have a name, I'd just rather not use it."

"Oh." He stepped back to admire his handiwork, when he realized that her hair was still sopping wet. He quickly dried Celine's hair, put it in twin tails, and brought her down to the parlor.

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