Inscrybing a Beginning to an End

What is Life Without Death?

Death is often something feared by most, as it details the end. Life beyond death was unknown and unheard of. And yet, one stood to embrace it with open arms.

    Another unfortunate victim of illness. Not uncommon in the small town. With doctors in scarce supply, the workload was heavy on the church. One such priestess prepared a gravestone for another fallen victim. She had witnessed death throughout her entire life without fearing it. It was a natural occurrence that was expected with life. After all, what is life without death?

    She was nicknamed Hecate in the town for her knowledge of herbs and poisons, as well as her reassurance of death and the afterlife. She didn't mind whatever the townsfolk called her. All she cared about was helping in any way she could, even if that meant giving the dead a perfect resting place.

    The gravestone was prepared. Tomorrow, she would bring it to the church and the funeral would commence. Before all of that, however, she had to record this instance in the records. The book was already pulled out. All Hecate had to do was prepare the quill and ink. Her favourite part of all was writing about the person's final moments as if it was a stature of their legacy.

    The last few pages were filled with people dying of this unfortunate disease. No one was sure what it was, but some rumours tied it back to the ocean just beyond the town and the fields, opposite of the forest. The Angler was the first to be questioned of this disease, but he had little information. Still, he would go to the beaches every day and sail out for fish, even though very few bought fish from him now. Hecate never understood the man or how his sickly appearance never changed. He always looked like he would end up in one of her coffins the next day.

    Hecate was always proud of her calligraphy and cursive skills. Every name in the book was written by her ever since she joined the church twenty years ago. Before that was her mother, and before that, her mother. A tradition passed down from three generations. She was proud of her role and what she was able to do, even though it was considered controversial to deal with all the dead people.

    The page was complete. A poor soul who died of an unknown illness from the sea. They passed a day ago at 4:40 pm with their family. They died peacefully in bed. A poet.

    Hecate sighed as she started to clean up, putting the silk-smooth ink back into its drawer and putting the book of records on the shelf. She left the gravestone as it was and left the room, taking with it a candelabra that once helped light the room up.

    The moon shone brightly, lighting the small, quiet town. Still, Hecate kept the candelabra lit as she gracefully walked through the town with her gown flowing behind her thanks to the soft breeze. She walked past the graveyard, pausing for a moment as she gave a small blessing to the graves before leaving. The moon watched as Hecate continued to walk through the town, making sure not to make a sound. Past the plaza and down a small hill led to her little house with her front yard covered in lilies. Her favourite flower. She passed the front yard and opened the door, walking in and placing the candelabra on the table.

The house was almost empty, with little furniture to comfort it. Hecate was too old to be wedded now, being the last generation in her family. She took pride in her liminal living space, as well as her life. She was alone and she was happy about it.

As she prepared for bed, a chill went through her as the candelabra went out. Now the only lighting in the house was the moonlight leaking through the windows, lighting up the small bedroom. She looked around the room, but there was no one there. Of course, there was no one else there. She was alone, but she couldn't shake it off. Someone was with her one way or another.

Hecate looked around the house, but of course, there was nobody there. The house was cold, but it was early spring. It was always cold without the fireplace on. Hecate enjoyed the cold a lot. It reminded her of wintertime and it gave her an excuse to have a nice hot cup of tea.