Mortal Comforts || Kuroshitsuji OC

Six Years in Crowded Rooms

     Sunlight sliced through the ornate curtains in thick beams, casting hazy light onto Emilynne's sleeping visage.

    She squirmed, the influx of light unwelcome in the midst of her slumber. But if the sun was awake, it surely meant it was time for her to start her day, and unwilling, she stirred, eyes droopy with fatigue.

    Emilynne slipped out from under her sheets with a grunt, joints creaking as she fumbled for her slippers. Ordinarily, she would be assisted by her servants in dressing and tidying up her appearance, but not today. She had woken too early, missing the servants by just under an hour, and she was grateful for this. She did not quite like being poked and stared at like some laboratory specimen under a harsh examining light.

    Her wardrobe held a vast assortment of dresses for all different occasions, most of them in neutral beige tones or silky whites. Emilynne fingered the dresses gently, like flipping through a book - no, not this one, certainly not this one. At last she landed on a long, gauzy beige dress with white trim and a matching pair of silk gloves, and her lips pursed in a smile. This would do.

     Tightening her corset on her own was a bit of a chore, but Emilynne had gotten used to doing it over the years. She had become a right independent woman, though she would accept the help from her servants when it was offered, and especially so in front of her mother. Being a proper lady was her mother's utmost triumph, and she had so harshly pressed it upon Emilynne growing up that she often felt smothered by all the menial things she was expected to do. Smile over tea, laugh at men's jokes. Offer coy bats of the eyes, sip wine elegantly. Curtsy, but don't bend down too far and risk looking promiscuous. Never clean your own messes. Don't get dirty or pick flowers. Wear the proper hat for the proper occasion - not that ghastly brown flat you always wear, Emilynne, good gracious!

     She sighed and finished the lacing.

     By the time she was dressed, makeup and hair styled immaculately, she could just begin to hear the sounds of the servants stirring down below. Somewhere in the kitchen, a kettle had begun to whistle, and she knew that she had precious little time to sneak out of the house or be sat down to tea by her mother and thus be stuck another hour. She completed her outfit quickly, plopping her usual brown hat atop her head and wrapping the borrowed shawl tight around her otherwise bare shoulders, and then commenced easing herself down the stairs, careful not to make a sound.

     Her boots sat in the foyer, polished to a sheen and free of any of the last week's mud. She picked up her dress and slid each foot into the proper shoe, tying the laces with some difficulty; it was always a task she struggled with, having very little coordination. Plus, the slipperiness of her gloves made it difficult to grasp her laces firm enough to tie truly tight. Oh well, she supposed. No one would see her shoes anyhow, so what did it matter if they were tied or not?

     Half satisfied with her work, Emilynne turned her eyes to the grand double doors holding her back from the outside world, and she puffed her chest up with a certain type of determination. She would spend not a moment more in this dull estate. Throwing caution to the wind, she pulled open one of the sturdy mahogany doors and slipped into the crisp outside air, filling her lungs with a deep, whole breath. Birds twittered to one another from nearby hedges, flitting back and forth with beaks full of straw and twigs - leftover debris from the storm. While the estate drive had been cleared by the servants, the garden was still left wanting, a bit of a wreck with its plants wilted and lopsided. At least it made good tools for the birds.

    Emilynne drew the shawl closer, nails digging into its tweed fabric. There was a chill in the air, the first coming signs of autumn, and she briefly pondered if she should go back inside and opt for a heavier coat, one that would surely provide more protection against the wind. But she realized she could not turn back or else risk being spotted, so she pressed on, making her way down the estate drive as quickly as she dared.

*****

     The city was lively in the morning, which was a sight Emilynne had not beheld in quite some time. Commonfolk skipped from corner to corner, tipping hats and exchanging smiles; shop owners beckoned people in from the cold with their open doors, advertising their wares. Children tugged at parents' sleeves, inquiring about the newest toys from Funtom and could I have that one please, please, mummy? Emilynne almost smiled, though she could not let herself get too caught up in the moment lest she forget her purpose for trekking all the way out so early in the morning.

     "Pardon me, sir, if I could have a moment of your time," she said, flagging down an older gentleman who was passing by with his wife in tow, "but might you know where the funeral parlor is?"

     "Sure thing, miss. Just follow this road here-" He waved his arm to the left, "-and it should take you straight to it."

     "Thanks much. Do have a good day." She gave a small, rushed curtsy, catching the twinkling eyes of his wife before smiling and turning promptly on her heel. Loose strands of hair swished around her neck as she turned.

*****

     Sure enough, her short walk down the cobblestone path led her to the parlor, which had acquired a nice smattering of cobwebs in the time since she had last seen it. It seemed different in the sunlight, less harsh, but still not at all inviting. She could now clearly make out the lettering, its odd purple hue and shimmering gold embellished lining. She supposed it was not atrocious, but not at all the sort of place she would ever have seen herself going in the past.

     Emilynne extended a hand, the other still clutching the shawl, and knocked thrice on the door.

     Please answer.

     Silence.

     Please.

     "'Ello? Do come in, now. Shop is open."

     A twinge of excitement lit up in Emilynne's chest. She pushed the thick door open, grimacing at its issued creak, and she donned a sheepish smile in preparation of seeing the man. Was it embarrassing to be back here? Should she just pretend they never met and go about her life as usual? No, at the very least, she wanted to retrieve her coat. Yes, that was why she was here. Damn her mind for letting that detail slip.

     "H-hello. Again. Unless you don't remember me. I'm-"

     "Ah, Lady Emilynne. Pleasure to see you. What brings you here on this fine morning, hee hee?"

     "Well, I-" She faltered. "I came to retrieve my coat. It occurs to me I have left it, and I would like it back. I brought your shawl as well. It is not in my nature to keep others' belongings," she explained, tipping her nose up in a proud, if not haughty, display. "Unless it is a gift. But this belongs to you, and so here it is."

     The Undertaker laughed - a bright, joyful sound. "You went to all this trouble to return a shawl? Now, now, that's funny. You could've kept it, you know. And ah, your jacket. Yes, I 'ave it here, I do. Nice and dry now. Bit wrinkly though, I do apologize."

     Emilynne flushed. "It is not so odd! I am simply doing the proper thing, and- oh, nevermind that. Yes, thank you. I will have it pressed when I return home, so don't worry about the wrinkles."

      "Didn't cross me mind. Now, if that's all, I bid you good day. Unless you're in need of fitting for a lovely coffin of mine, hee hee..."

     "Well, actually- No, no, that will be all. I will see you again soon," she said, giving a curt nod as if affirming her own words. "Or, not soon. Sometime. You know, I do quite like this shop. It could do with windows though. Have you ever thought of that? Some natural light would do this place good." She was rambling now, and she did not quite know why. But it was embarrassing, and with haste in her step she handed over the shawl and replaced it with her heavy coat, fingers playing idly with the buttons.

     Before she left altogether, she cast a glance over her shoulder. Words lingered on her tongue; she debated - speak or not?

     "Ahem. I will be returning to the cemetery later this evening, if you would like to stop by and chat. I bid you farewell."

     And with that, face red and hands trembling, Emilynne exited the shop.