The Girl That Died

Until Then

Only a few houses later they finally stood in front of Yvette's former home. Her stomach felt strange and her mind was racing with things she wanted to tell her husband, everything she wanted to let him know. But despite that, she didn't know how she should put any of it in words. Alexandre put a hand on her shoulder encouragingly: 

"We don't have to do it right now if you aren't ready yet. I also needed a long time until I checked in on my parents. But well I only had to apologize to them and assure them it wasn't their fault that I... well."

"No, I want to do this now."

The woman replied and pushed open the door.

A paper-thin layer of dust covered the furniture and a few spiders had moved into the corners of the rooms. She smiled softly and walked through the spacious house; not much had changed and even the pictures of her stood in the same place as before. She took one into her hand and wiped off the dust with her sleeve: 

"That was last year when we visited Germany."

A smaller smirk crept on her freckled face and she put the photograph back down:

"Pierre hates being photographed."

In the next room, which was easily recognizable as the living room due to the decor and big sofa, she finally found a painfully familiar person; her husband was sitting on one of the chairs, his head leaning on the arms he had crossed on the table in front of him. He was snoring. Yvette softly caressed his thick black hair and her eyes landed on the bottle that stood next to his chair.

"I hope he doesn't drink too much."

While she knew that the man never got violent when he was drunk but rather emotional and quiet, she also knew that too much alcohol was bad for him nonetheless. She kissed his cheek and took the bottle away. 

Her mentor watched her silently and followed along through the house until they stood in front of the children's room. Laughter could be heard from inside and she hesitated:

"They're awake."

Slowly the woman opened the door, which did not stay unnoticed by the children:

"Pierre, did you not close the door properly?"

The girl asked, getting up; she was wearing a white sleeping gown and was holding one of her dolls in her hands.

"Yes, I did!"

The boy replied and looked back at his sister:

"I even double-checked!"

Yvette and Alexandre took a step aside, getting out of the girl's way. She pulled the door closed.

"These,"

Yvette said proudly,

"Are Charlotte and Pierre. Charlotte is eight and Pierre turned eleven just a few weeks ago."

"They really are adorable. I would have loved to have children of my own. Well, I came close enough to it."

Alexandre replied and Yvette felt more questions rise up inside her. But she saved those for a later point in time, to annoy him with in the music room.

"I know right? They seem to do really well without me. I'm glad about that."

She mumbled instead and watched her children play for just a bit longer before she left the room, satisfied; she knew now that they were all alright and that they had gotten used to her absence so very quickly. She had expected to be much more emotional but there wasn't actually a reason for it. 

After all, both her children and her husband seemed to be fine and even if she knew that she would miss them, the woman was aware that she could visit them whenever she had the time.

Happily, she went back to the living room, took a pen and a sheet of paper, and wrote:

My dearest, Aaron,

I know it must be strange to read this, but you have to trust me when I tell you that I am Yvette. The reason that I write this is that I, as you certainly know, died a little over two weeks ago. It was incredibly painful but you have to understand that death was a relief and I am technically not really in the realm of the dead. 

But it would be too complicated to explain why. But what I can say is that I miss you and think of you three daily. That is what makes it so hard for me to share one last deep wish with you:

You have to marry again. Charlotte and Pierre need a mother to look after them and teach them. Much more than that, you need someone by your side to keep you from drinking. I trust that you follow this wish and treat your future bride as well as you treated the children and me. You don't need to worry about me, I am fine and I will come here and write as often as I can. 

Until then,

Yvette.

She signed the letter, kissed her wedding ring, and put it down on the paper right next to the pen.

The woman gave Alexandre a telling look and prepared mentally for leaving the house when Gerard suddenly appeared behind him; he seemed tense and slightly shocked. His shaky voice only emphasized that and Yvette could almost feel the tension herself as he spoke:

"Alexandre. We have to go. They want to speak to us, it's about Black Rose."

Her mentor cleared his throat, corrected his glasses, and showed his understanding with a small nod:

"Yvette, I'm sorry but we have to hurry a bit. It's really serious."

She gave both of them a questioning look but received no answer to the confusion that was reflected on her face.

Like this she ended up hastily following the two back to the Shinigami World, just barely able to keep up with them. Multiple times she asked what the sudden haste was all about, but didn't receive any reply to it.

The only thing she knew was that she had a good reason to be worried, which was why it was so frustrating nobody told her what exactly she was worried about.

"Alexandre, Mr. Francois. Please just tell me something, anything! I want to know what that problem is!"
She kept pleading and kept almost stumbling over her own feet multiple times.

After more silence, she finally gave up. She kept hurrying after her superiors and hoped to find out more soon. It didn't take long until they stood in front of the room she and Alexandre had sat in front of and waited just two weeks ago. The very same spot was now occupied by two strangers, who instantly noticed the presence of the three and exchanged strict looks with Yvette's companions before they introduced themselves and offered their hands to Yvette in a  more or less friendly manner.