As far as moving in groups went, this would be a first for Daisy. Her first journey, a mere 20 steps on counting, along with a hoard of people dressed in black carrying bouquets or lunchboxes, was to the Slave Graveyards.
Daisy did not have a black dress so she stayed behind the crowd, following their cold trail, as they headed to a secluded corner of the forest, shrouded by ancient trees and veiled in silence, not too far from the Castle and not too close to Town for convenience purposes.
From afar, Daisy spotted the moss-covered tombstones standing in solemn rows, their weathered surfaces bearing the weight of someone's withering identity. Soon, the gardener's boy would be one of those...tall grass swayed gently with the breeze, as if whispering about a secret unknown to humans.
If Daisy knew that his time was coming to a close... she'd have treated him better, she'd have dealt the situation with more patience, she would have been nicer to him.
As shafts of golden sunlight filtered through the dense canopy overhead, it casted dappled patterns of light and shadow upon the ground but with every step Daisy took the shadows grew stronger.
She followed the mumbling crowd through the wrought iron gate, rusted with age, when everyone came to a halt. There was sobbing which escalated into howling and soon, the whole crowd was reminiscing or regretting with tears of their own.
Daisy felt obliged to participate.
She had been a kitchen slave for four years now and she had been stealing flowers for two of them. The flowers she had seen the gardner caress every petal of. She had been horribly rude to the boy, even though he had started it, and — and —
Her line of thought died as tears brimmed in her eyes.
The collective misery in the air was enough to surpass three whole boxes of raw onions being chopped in her face. It made her nose runny and throat clog, though, just as a sniffle was about to escape her —
"My Hero!"
An excited whisper brought Daisy out of her melancholic reverie.
"I knew I saw you there!"
Daisy looked up see Lucy smiling a gummy smile at her, dressed in customary "Lucky Charm" attire.
"I didn't see you, hello!" Daisy waved a hand in greeting, excited to meet her only friend after two days of forgetting about her existence.
"I was leading the crowd to bring good luck," Lucy informed with smile and slithered her arms around Daisy's, "There's a lot of snakes around but stick with me and you'll be fine!" She raised a thumbs-up, voice a scandalous whisper.
Daisy couldn't help the snort which escaped her. Lucy stuck out like a mushroom with celery and beans in a pot because of her starkly contrasting attire — just like the wildflowers blooming amidst the graves, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the somber surroundings.
"What about everyone else?" Daisy asked, patting Lucy's round head. Is that how Mr. Thomas felt when he patted Daisy's head: elated and proud but at the behest of lacking in words?
"Only my hero gets the special treatment," Lucy winked, "Sad about the boy though. Maybe my lucky charm doesn't last long for other people...we met him two days ago," she sighed.
The concept of death was not foreign to Daisy, having being orphaned at a young age and words like, "Her parents are dead," drilled into her head. Death, to her, meant one never gets to see the other person, it was a goodbye forever.
"What do you think death is?" She asked, eyes fixated on a group of men lowering a casket into the ground.
"I don't know, I have never experienced it," Lucy shrugged, her lips pursed.
Daisy wondered how far wrapped Lucy was in this concept of Luck. She narrowed her eyes and readied her fingers for a pinch so hard it would prove Lucy wasn't lucky afterall, but instead, her whole body flinched. Daisy howled in muted pain, unclasped herself from Lucy's arms and raised her foot in her hands.
Hopping on one leg and chewing on her lower lip, Daisy spotted an Emberclaw biting her ankle. It was a tiny but fierce creature with vibrant scarlet exoskeleton shimmering like molten lava in the sunlight. Its slender, agile body is adorned with intricate patterns of black markings, resembling glowing embers dancing upon its carapace.
It stared at Daisy with beady black eyes, mocking her intentions, as Lucy flailed around in a flurry of, "What happened? Are you okay? Oh dear Lord, it is gonna swell up so bad!!"
Daisy flicked it off and gritted her teeth. With one hand grasping her reddening foot Daisy prepared the other to swat Lucy's head but her strong blow failed and almost landed her facefirst into dirt because Lucy had bent down to pick up:
"Look! I found a Gardenia! But what will I even do with it, I don't need it. The church pays my family...do you want it?" She offered the gleaming green coin to Daisy's struggling face.
"Heh," Daisy breathed in exasperation, tears welled up again, "I'd like that, thank you," she pushed her mouth into a smile.
"But you don't look happy, are you okay?" Lucy gasped and cupped Daisy's bony face, "You don't have to take it if you don't want to. Put some ice on the emberbite and it will be fine, you're the best, aren't you, my hero?"
Daisy merely nodded and let go of her foot, "Of course, I am the bravest and you're the luckiest." She all but sobbed when Lucy pocketed the Gardenia.
As minutes passed, the crowd thinned and people returned to their chores, finding peace in the mundanity of daily life. The Head Chef gave a pat of encouragement to the greying gardener before he too walked away.
Daisy untangled herself from Lucy and informed, "I need to go, we're already late for the dinner work!" And waved a goodbye to her friend in white.
The kitchen would be in shambles if the Head Chef arrived before his slaves and did not find them working in perfect unison. Daisy wanted to make haste but she was also stuck behind his lethargic pace, hindered by the societal rule of never surpassing a person with more status.
With jittery toes and hands clenching against her dress, Daisy wished to get out without being yelled at. Nonetheless, she had never seen the Head Chef not shouting at someone or about something, so it was quite a surprise to see him walking peacefully down the winding grassy path.
His shoulders were wide and his back did not bend like the Butler's did. He walked straight, his dark curls for once not pressed by the tall white hat he wore and adored.
It was quite serene but there was a nervous voice in Daisy's head, fearing that the man would just turn and blow up at her for following him.
But he never did.
Instead, he took a detour and Daisy found her feet following in a captivated fashion. She was afraid, yes, but she wanted to know more. Seraphina's voice in her head urged her to see more, think more, understand more.
His feet stopped in front of a grave. Moss having made friends with all the concerete, it sprawled around and hid the owner's name. The Head Chef kneeled in front of the cold stone and in the wind, Daisy could hear her heart thumping in her ears.
He scratched the moss off the gravestone. It read: In the loving memory of Rosalie Ferns, a beloved daughter for as long as she stayed [FF333 — FF333]. He ran a caressing hand over her name and Daisy saw the way his shoulders folded in and began rising and falling.
The forest was always silent. He too was silent.
Daisy found her footing and ran back, through the iron gates, her heart beating in her ears. Her throat felt clogged but she couldn't pin point why.
Her brain flared up a whirlwind of thoughts as she reached her basin and began scrubbing the ever multiplying dirty dishes. There was a voice in her mind, constantly chattering, as the Head Chef returned to shout at the Sous Chef and his assistants.
Do grieving people make a grieving company?
But, Daisy looked up to observe, when he wasn't shouting there was a dedicated look in his eye. His brows would press against eachother in concentration and he'd aim for perfect taste and presentation in every plate he made. Though, even when the food was sent out, he never smiled.
And when the food was done, no one talked to him.
There were no questions strangling his concentration and there were no incompetent humans pestering him for consultation. If one did not pay attention, they'd not notice the way he blended with the white walls of the kitchen in his spotless white clothes, observing the groaning assistants and giggling maids from behind.
Daisy's hands were soaked in soap and scrubbing on instict but her eyes were fixated on the Head Chef. He stood beside a cabinet, hands folded against his chest, lips pursed. There wasn't a hint of emotion in his eyes as he scanned the small land he ruled, probably scrambling for newer food ideas.
And suddenly, their eyes locked.
Daisy was looking at him and he found her staring at him. Her fingers clenched against the metal pot but her face broke into a big smile. Her head tilted and eyes scrunched in pursuit of conveying herself to him.
She opened her eyes to see him flustered. There was a crack in his facade. His brows were nearing in a mush that wasn't made out of fury. Daisy widened her smile to a toothy grin and it was enough to propel the Head Chef out of the Kitchen.
Huh?
Daisy's nostrils flared with embarassment as she turned back to her dishes, face flushed and thoughts of inhaling soap in order to never see him again dominated her mind.