Elysara stood in stunned silence, her heart pounding in her chest as she stared at the lifeless figure before her. It wasn't supposed to end like this. They had tried everything—the chants, the potions, the healing herbs—and yet, nothing had been enough.
Only then did they notice the sound outside: low murmurs, whispers, and shifting feet.
Elysara turned to the window and saw the crowd that had gathered outside the cottage. The villagers stood in clusters, their faces etched with concern and unease. Some clutched shawls around their shoulders, while others leaned in close to each other, their voices carrying just loud enough to be heard.
"She must've been cursed," one woman murmured, her hands wringing nervously.
"Do you think it's contagious?" another whispered, stepping back from the crowd as if the very air near the cottage could infect her.
"I heard she was dabbling in dark magic," an older man said, his tone dripping with suspicion. "Why else would she come to them in the dead of night?"
Elysara's chest tightened as she listened to their words, the fear and blame already twisting into dangerous speculation. She turned to her grandmother, who stood at the bedside, her face pale but resolute.
"They're talking about her," Elysara said quietly, her voice thick with disbelief.
Aureth glanced toward the window, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd. Her expression was unreadable, but Elysara could feel the tension radiating from her.
"I knew this would happen," Aureth said softly. "People fear what they don't understand."
Elysara's hands clenched into fists at her sides as she looked back at the lifeless body on the bed. The woman's death was still fresh, the horror of it hanging in the air, and yet the villagers were already weaving stories, assigning blame, and feeding their fears.
"She came to us for help," Elysara said, her voice rising with a mix of anger and desperation. "We tried everything—"
"And they don't care," Aureth interrupted gently, her voice firm but not unkind. "Fear makes people forget the truth. It blinds them to reason."
The whispers outside grew louder, the murmurs turning into hushed arguments and pointed glances. Elysara could feel the weight of their stares, even through the walls of the cottage.
"Let them talk," Aureth said after a moment, turning back to the bed. She began gathering the remnants of her potions and herbs, her movements steady and deliberate. "We did what we could. The truth doesn't change, no matter what they believe."
Elysara and her grandmother worked in somber silence. The air was thick with the smell of herbs and smoke, their tools and potions abandoned for the solemn task of preparing the woman's body for burial.
Aureth leaned over the lifeless form, her hands steady as she whispered ancient prayers under her breath. Elysara carefully washed the woman's body with water infused with lavender and sage, the fragrant steam curling in the air around them.
"She deserves to fade into bliss with dignity," Aureth murmured softly, her voice filled with resolve.
Elysara nodded, her hands trembling as she wiped the woman's face clean. The once green-tinged skin had faded to a pale gray, but the dark veins and scars of her suffering remained etched into her form.
They wrapped her in a plain white shroud, binding it with strips of cloth soaked in protective oils. Aureth sprinkled a mixture of salt and dried thyme over the body, muttering incantations meant to ward off lingering malevolent energies.
When the preparations were done, they lifted the body together onto a wooden pallet. The weight was less physical than it was emotional; every step toward the door felt like carrying the burden of failure.
As they pushed open the door and stepped outside, the whispers hit them like a cold wind.
Villagers had gathered in clusters, their voices low but unmistakable as they watched the pair carry the body through the clearing.
"There they are," someone hissed.
"Look at them. No explanation, no apology," another muttered.
"I told you, this isn't normal. This is what comes of meddling with unnatural forces."
Elysara kept her eyes forward, her jaw clenched tight against the rising anger and shame. Her grandmother walked beside her, her expression calm, as though the murmurs didn't touch her.
"Don't respond," Aureth said under her breath, sensing Elysara's tension. "Let them talk. Their words cannot harm the dead."
The villagers' eyes bore into them as they passed, their silence louder than any accusation.
When they reached the small clearing behind the cottage, Aureth set down her side of the pallet and motioned for Elysara to do the same. They had prepared the grave earlier, a simple, unmarked mound of freshly turned earth.
Together, they lowered the woman into the grave. Elysara hesitated for a moment before reaching into her apron and pulling out a sprig of wolfsbane, its purple petals vibrant against the gray sky. She placed it gently on the body before stepping back.
Aureth began the burial rites, her voice low and steady as she chanted ancient prayers. She sprinkled a mixture of herbs and ash into the grave, each word of the chant carrying the weight of centuries-old tradition.
"May the earth cradle you," Aureth intoned, her voice unwavering. "May the winds carry your spirit. May the waters cleanse you, and may the fire guard you against the darkness."
Elysara joined her grandmother, repeating the phrases as they worked together to shovel the soil over the body. When the grave was filled, Aureth took out a vial of clear liquid and poured it in a slow circle around the mound. She whispered an incantation, her hands moving in deliberate patterns, sealing the grave with protective magic.
When the ritual was complete, they stood side by side in silence, staring at the freshly turned earth.
"She deserved peace," Elysara said softly, her voice trembling.
"And she has it now," Aureth replied, though the sadness in her voice belied her certainty.
As they turned to leave, Elysara glanced back toward the cottage. Through the trees, she could still see the villagers lingering, their murmurs reaching her ears even from a distance. Their judgment weighed heavily on her, but she knew her grandmother was right. The dead were beyond their whispers.
Without a word, Elysara followed Aureth back to the cottage, the sound of the villagers' gossip fading into the background. For now, all they could do was honor the woman's memory.