It had been some weeks since that fateful night.
I disposed of the three wolf's bodies deep within the forest. I did not bury them, but instead left them for animals to feed on their carcasses.
There was a patch of land in the woods that Geroux and I had always admired. It was an area surrounded by beautiful trees that was far enough away from the well travelled main path, which meant he would be left undisturbed.
I dug the grave with my own hands. Using a shovel just slowed me down. The ornaments joined me for the night time burial. It was an incredibly sad affair. The candelabra provided our light. The chipped teacup scooped up some dirt and poured it into the hole, onto Geroux's body.
After our little private service, I filled in the hole covering the body in a matter of seconds. It rained soon after, which I decided were heaven's tears.
I wasn't sure what to do next. Earlier in my stay here, Geroux had left me a note which read, "My home is your home."
While the sentiment was a beautiful one, I simply did not feel the same. It felt like this home was our home. Now it's nothing but haunting memories.
This home, no matter how palatial, would always serve as a constant reminder of the life we would never have together.
So I hitched the horses and carriage and left. I took the ornaments of course, personal effects and the lycanthrope book and then set on my way, to anywhere. I felt as though I was running away, but I didn't know what I was running from. I think it may have been all the tragedy and grief.
I have found a peaceful place to stay, but I cannot say where, for I do not wish to be tracked down by a reader of this diary.
Along the way, I did see a few Missing Persons' notices in my travels with my name above the crudest portrait of myself I have ever seen (my guess is the drawing was by the hand of Henrietta - she never had an artistic bone in her body).
One thing for which I was not prepared, was the overbearing grief. Following me like a shadow, it kept me awake during the longest of nights and all but consumed me.
I read about moon activity and how it affected the magical layer of the world in the lycanthrope book. It explained that when a mate had passed, one should return to the site and release their grief, or forever be bound to the loss.
I decided to do as instructed in the hope that I may find some relief. So I returned to Geroux's for a full moon. The ornaments and I bravely walked through the woods all the way to my love's burial site.
With a clear view of the moon, I howled for the longest time.
Every howl of grief felt like a weight being lifted off my chest. My voice was hoarse by the time I finished when morning came around.
Suddenly, I could think of Geroux and not have my insides explode.
I finally feel like I can breathe again.
So ends this diary, which I shall leave here in the little library I have come to know so well.
And this brings to a close the end of my former life.
In saying that, a part of Geroux will always live on, inside of me, of course.
Also, I was surprised and relieved to find I felt less sorrowful being in Geroux's house, again. The magic is definitely leaving this place, I can sense it. I don't understand how that is possible, but it seems a poetic, if rather tragic, fit.
Not all the magic is gone, though.
I returned to the forest one last time, to say my final goodbye to Geroux, as I will not be returning to this place again.
And to my surprise, growing out of the ground right on top of his grave...
A single, long stemmed, red rose.
* * *
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