𝑭ume | Joseph x Aesop

Prologue

It looked alive....well, used to.

The eggshell white dress had reached all the way down to her toes, and yet even with the purest clothes she wore, her death was none of the sort. Although with the silent passing, her last breath was taken away with a slit of a blade, inhaling a metallic aroma of red. It was rather a brutal scene, but even the Embalmer had not flinched at the thought of the women's body laying on hard concrete floors. After all, the dead shouldn't be able to justify themselves.

She had become silent, and Aesop loved that silence.

There was never a time in his life he would go and mess with his works of the dead, and every project that was given to him was finished in perfect condition. He was the painter, and the bodies were his canvas. He made sure they looked presentable, whether or not limbs were bruised or torn apart, he would stitch back together just to make them look alive once more. But even they were just the empty shells of who they used to be. He was proud of his work, more than the stains he had to commit before hand. The coffins were the frames to his canvas, and the graveyard was the museum of his art.

At the moment, Aesop's arm refused to lift, exhaustion overcame his limbs as the dead of the night cast a sleeping spell on his body. He didn't bother to look at the clock hanging on the wall, the ticks continuing to flick as seconds go by. It was late, and that was the only thing he knew. He was to go home, the shelter he was provided by his late adopted father. Of course, the tale of Jerry Carl was of a different story for another day. But to say the least, Aesop's love for the dead grew only more deeper as he further understood the importance of embalming thanks to him.

Sleep only ever lasted for a second, and once he closes his eyes, the painful rays of the sun blinded his sight. There were no difference in what he felt from last night, no dreams, no rest. Like always, fatigue seemed to crawl through his veins. It was like some flu he had caught but never went away. So with every bit of strength left in his body, he pulled himself up from the mattress of the bed. The warm covers left his skin, the cold air of the room nipping his arms as the blanket slid off.

It was the same everyday, the normal routine, the emptiness of his home rested a fragrance of a single being. Truly, the silence was his only source of freedom.

Aesop looked back to the letter, the same kind of letter he would get beforehand. It consisted mostly of what the patient wanted the funeral to be. But in the end they never changed the theme of am elegant gathering of relatives and friends. He wondered what it would feel like to be in their shoes, the dead being missed by loved ones. Would people also mourn for him once his time comes? His artwork displayed of everything anyone would want after death, and even so, would anyone even dare plan his coffin? He perfected the canvas for others, but would anyone be willing to perfect his?

The clock chimed on time, his work had started and Aesop was once again– right on time.

The door opened, the light from the sun entered along with a lady in her mid years. She looked rather pale, her skin almost white like icing. Her eyes of blue were layered with a bland truth, a truth she accepted. Aesop knew why she was here, and she knows why she was there. You could see it in her eyes, a glazed fate awaiting for her submission. Her calling was within this very room....and she took the bait.

"Mr. Carl, it seems as time is running out fast as I expected," the woman exclaimed, her voice wavering a solemn tune. It wasn't the first time she had entered the building before, but this time it was for a different situation. She wasn't here to set up a meeting, rather to sign her own life.

Aesop examined the lady, his mask hiding a mischievous plan. But he could only look at her as he sat down at his desk, the familiar paper he had always pulled out flailing onto the solid wooden counter. "Have you finally made up your mind?" he asked, gloved hands hovering over the pen.

The woman paused, her deep eyes staring back as if a sudden realization came to mind. Did she have a choice? There really was only two ways to end this, and only one would claim her life. She trusted the young man to help with her condition, as many looked up upon the ashed-haired to be the but a savior to those in a fatal fate. His reputation granted a longing to those who seek a better aftermath, and he achieved those goals. Carl's method to helping was still unknown to the outside, but the patients who have signed the toll would only be given a clue. He was their only choice.

"I will do it. I am ready to end this suffering," she hesitated, but her hands had already signed the papers. The look on her face only amused Aesop. It was usually after signing the papers did his patients began to reflect on their choice, how wrong they might've been to suddenly end up in this situation, how foolish they were to agree. But in the end, they no longer could look back. But little did they know, he had them wrapped around his finger from the very first time their souls entered the room.

"Don't fret, I'll make sure you die as painless as ever..."

After all, this was Aesop Carl's specialty : To convince the living to die.....

A/N: A h a. Sorry for making everyone wait ^^; This was still in the making so it might take a little longer. Do not fret however! I will try as best as I could to satisfy my readers!