The Deal

The Black Ribbon

The deep concern and tragic sympathy is too much to bear.

"Thank you." I let go of Nan's wispy arms to take the warm mug from Niall, avoiding his worried stare as he analyzes my expression.

Both their auras —usually bright and shifting—have been darkened by grief. Muddy and sluggish, I can almost see the heavy hues dragging their shoulders down.

I can't look at them because their depressed auras and heavy gazes stab at my wounded chest and I can't look around them because then I'll see the covered mirrors and the stopped clock and all the open windows.

Covered mirrors to prevent a trapped soul, a clock stopped at the time of death to prevent more bad luck, and open windows to allow the soul to travel freely.

Everywhere I look, I am haunted by the reminder of my loss.

I sip on my coffee for something to do, the steaming liquid scalding my tongue. I hiss and pull away momentarily before taking another drink, welcoming the slight sting. Nice to feel something after days of dreary detachment.

"How you feeling? You ready for this?"

I try not to snort at Niall's question, fighting back a sardonic smile and examining the gloomy, sluggish movement of his burnt aura. How can one genuinely ever be ready to bury their father?

Still, I just nod and drink my coffee, a heavy sigh blowing the steam away from my face. Niall offers to make a quick breakfast, but I decline the offer, stomach queasy at the thought of food.

Oddly, one of the hardest parts of grieving is just... the mundane things. Figuring out what to eat for lunch the day after he died seemed ridiculous and crushing all at once. To move on, to plan a meal my father wouldn't be part of... it felt wrong.

The world keeps turning. Cruel and uncaring.

"You look beautiful, ma chérie." Nan steps towards me and I notice, for the first time, the thin black velvet ribbon between her fingers. Silently, she takes my hand and gently wraps the ribbon around my wrist. It's tight, but comforting, and I realize just how removed I am from reality that I hadn't noticed both Niall and Nan wearing these ribbons around their wrists.

When a family experiences great tragedy, wrapping a single black ribbon around the remaining loved ones protects them from the universe's continued reaping. It marks them as off-limits, protecting their soul, and pleading for mercy.

My smile is shaky as I thank her, grateful for the idea and hoping they work as an added protection for everyone. Her omniscient gaze never breaks as she takes an extra ribbon from a hidden pocket in her dress and closes my hand around it, "just in case there's anyone else you would like to protect... I've cleansed it and charged it with tourmaline."

I don't have it in me to blush or feign ignorance of what —whom— she's referring to. Instead, I tuck the ribbon into the top of my dress as Niall grabs our coats from the foyer.

He takes my mug and places it onto a nearby table before gingerly placing my coat on my shoulders as if afraid to apply any force greater than a feather-light touch. As if I might crumble, fall to the floor in a heap of despair.

I wish I could.

We leave the house silently, and I'm able to release a freeing breath when the door shuts behind us. Even though the house is emptier and more eerie than ever, it's somehow also so suffocating I can hardly breathe.

Dark and dreary, the hope sucked right out of the front door the night I heard those knocks and got that call.

It no longer feels like home to me, just a mausoleum displaying all my tragedies.

Nan and Niall enclose me as we walk down the cobblestone path to the East, these paths less traveled than those in the square.

I haven't dared ventured into town since it happened. Afraid of the whispers, the stares, the renewed rumors that Nova Roux is cursed. That grief and death follow her like a shadow, everyone close to her in danger of falling victim to that darkness.