The smell of firewood that once filled the room was now putrefying flesh coated with the whiff of iron and charcoal. The jagged teeth of the roof remained, letting in streaks of moonlight that wound its way across the room, forming shadows of hideous beasts and monsters. But they were not there. Alice also.
I heard whimpers. My body moves though with much effort. She is bent over a body, silver hair and mangled limbs, body reduced to a blood-encrusted fetus. Virgil, I remember. Alfred had fought with him and threw him at me. I did not do anything to save him. The thought gnaws at me as my faculties are returned, and so is my conscience. My benefactor killed—and I, even for a slight lapse of consciousness, had relished in it like a deranged dog. I was ashamed. I looked away, hearing only the trembling sobs of the woman, broken by the death of her…companion. Lover, something whispers. No, I respond. That is simply untrue.
The voice did not give a reply, which left me grateful. I look at the ceiling through the garret and out into the moonlight as if that would comfort me. As if I was not partially responsible for Alice's grief. I need to comfort her. Whatever thought she may have of it does not matter, I care only for her well-being.
With that, I sauntered off towards the dame, the corpse's head lying on her arms as I have. Her tears sparkling down, hitting the body that had once guided me. If he had been a plant and the tears his water, he may have grown. Perhaps, with care and attention. But life does not grow in Yarim nor does it in the Sanctuary. Neither is it returned, only extended and prolonged, a constant cheating of death but you know the end dawns near. Death still lingers, scythe in hand, waiting for the moment that it will bear down upon you, as does the French guillotine upon those who are guilty of treachery.
I kneel with her and take her hand. She looks at me, ruby orbs misted by a sparkling white. Her face is pitiful: lips quivering as she gasped for breath. The smooth countenance now marked by creases, and two avenues from her swollen eyes where saltwater had trodden and left behind their trace. She is still beautiful when she cries.
In a trance, I wipe her tears with my free hand and look at the face of the old man. His eyes are open, its usual vastness and cavernousness replaced with a dull and glassy look. A blank slate of unfeeling and of the unknown—he had trudged into the horrors of life, and now he had reached its zenith, a firework that descended back to the ground, mixing with it. Dried blood covers his craggy face and his body, twisted in unusual patterns.
"He was a good man." I remarked.
"He was," Alice said, "the only person who took me for me, who loved me for who I was."
I did. But I did not say this. I listened amicably though the same prickle rose in my stomach.
"He was a great man—the first Hunter of Yarim who guided all its fledglings. A man so dear to me I would be willing to exchange his soul for mine that he may live. It will be much better if I am dead—"
"Pardon me, Ms. Alice but I fear you are crossing the line! Virgil…" his name brings a bitter taste to my tongue. "Virgil will have wanted you to live. He had loved you even though you were a ghoul, and were he only given the chance, he will have done more, so…please. Do not speak of your life as if it was a trifle matter, as if it was a facetious thing in one's life that can be thrown out so easily. You are the only thing…" I, "he ever wanted to find."
Her hands splay on her face, burying it along with the tears, "You are right, Mr. Diggory. I have been a fool. Dying now will only grieve Virgil more than his death might have grieved him. Yarim must first be freed before I join him—I must first grant that wish of his before I am to die!"
It was not quite what I had wanted her to surmise but she looked to be full of joy now, one that had been stripped away by his death, that it would have been discourteous of me to ruin her good health, so I let it be. My stomach pulsed with sting of the happenstance but I did not give it thought for much longer. It was time for Virgil's soul to rest, and that would not happen without his dreary green orbs being laid to rest.
"Shall I close his eyes now?" I asked. Alice broke from her sobbing, and sniffed.
"Not yet," she said, craning her head low so that their foreheads touched together. "You have been most important to me, Virgil. You know of who I truly was, who I truly am, and who I was truly meant to be. Hope—you gave it to me when I needed it most, abandoning your duty that you became mine, and I yours. We will be together, Virgil. You and I. Wait for me."
She kissed the forehead of the old man and looked at me, a peaceful smile set on her face that one would have not mistaken it for the smile of a person who had just grieved for her lover. I nodded and set the lids of those cavernous depths closed. It was only then I noticed Virgil's smile—a slight bend that marked the visage, giving him an air of wisdom still. He had known he was about to die. What were his thoughts then? What did he feel? Surrender. The answer came immediately. As I closed the lids of his eyes and helped Alice stand, and privately grieve in her room…As I lingered in the doorway, deciding whether I should stay or be with the dame…As I crossed the boundary of the Sanctuary and Yarim, leaving the house to Alice's devices, slipping into that ghoul-filled city where I might lose my life anytime but wake inside the Sanctuary, I had realized something. That Death smiles at us all, and will always smile at us all, and all we can do is smile back at it.