Mother’s Grave

“I didn’t come here to mourn if that’s what you're thinking,” I said it as if Mother could still hear me. She had done her best to keep a distance between us. Barring the funeral, I had no sentimentality to spare for her.

What had brought me to my mother’s grave was a girl. From afar I saw her standing in the estate’s graveyard. I knew I had never seen her before, but still she had looked familiar. When I called out to her, she either ignored me or couldn’t hear me over the wind. Curious of her identity, I decided to join her in the graveyard, but by the time I had arrived she had already left.

Now I was alone except for the sound of the whistling wind. It almost sounded as if it had a message to whisper to me.

“Your Highness?” I heard the wind ask.

I turned around. The undertaker who had presided over my mother’s funeral was here.

“What brings you here undertaker?” I asked, hoping that he hadn’t heard what I had said to Mother. “Surely you haven’t come for my father so soon after my mother.”

“No, Your Highness. I’m here on official business from Parliament.” He pulled out a scroll and handed it to me. Apparently there had been a string of grave robberies in the capital. In response, Parliament had put out a bounty and sent the undertakers on patrol.

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“That’s quite despicable.” I returned the scroll to him.

“Indeed.”

“By any chance, did you see a young girl on your way to the graveyard?”

“Other than the staff, I’ve only seen you since I arrived atop the hill, Your Highness.”

“I see.” I took a parting glance at Mother’s grave. “If you do find a girl loitering, please have the staff inform me. Of course you should also alert the guards if you see any suspicious activity.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.”

“Very well then. I won’t keep you from your work any longer.”

After that, I questioned the guards and servants stationed nearby on whether they had seen the girl or not. None of them had.

That Night

That night I had a dream that I was back in the graveyard. It was night in the dream and I was standing in front of Mother’s grave. To my left was the girl I had seen in the graveyard during the day. Now that I was standing next to her it was clear why she looked so familiar. We looked so alike that she had to be me just a few years younger. She—or I suppose I—was crying.

“There’s no point in crying.” I told myself. “It’s never gotten us anywhere. Not with father or with her.” I had grown sick of crying long ago. Considering her age, she should have been done with it too by now.

“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping away her tears and turning to face me. As she was calming herself, a golden ash began to disperse from her hair and her hair’s color began to fade from my jet black to my mother’s cinnamon brown.

I took a step back.

By now, she had already wiped away the tears, but new ones were already welling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

With those words, I awoke.