"Stop crying!" Her hand came across his head.
It lolled back, the neck cringing to hold its stability. She pulled it back by the hair. "You will look at me." His eyes stared upon her. Two glassy orbs of blue that looked where she desired.
She smiled, pleased that he obeyed her now. He would always obey her, forever in her control. She was his master, the puppeteer of his resting life. On instinct she put her wrist upon his, feeling the pulse that beat. Another smile. It would stay this time, until she was done.
His body she found, was cold. She did not mind, she was cold herself in this state.
It was with a gentle touch that she carried the lifeless body back to its home. Content with the peaceful expression she had placed on its face, she walked with a proud gait. His final moment of humanity would be with her. His last tender touch, would be hers. She lowered him carefully, afraid to disrupt his resting balance. The last look anyone would have of him was a tender gaze, that of which would be attributed by his family. She closed his body once again to the world.
It was not until the next morning that she washed the dirt from under her nails, and dried the presence of the dead from her skin. She returned to the empty bed.
"Where were you last night?" She imagined her husband would ask.
"Where were you?" She wished she had a husband that would ask. Though she wouldn't have left the house if she was married.
The morning grew warm, and in bed she remained, flitting between sleep and dreams. His head, the murky image in her waking dreams. She had kissed him. He… He had bended to her will. Of course he had, he no choice, no freedom. Death had taken that away from him. Not her, no not here, it had been death's doing. A shudder slithered across her back. He had been cold, so cold. The night had been warm when she left, only the slightest chill drifting across the air. Yet he had been cold, slowing his given pulse to a sharp shudder. It was not a night to revel on in the morning.
With night coming in she made ready, pausing only a moment in the mirror by the door. Her appearance mattered little, for who was there to look? Still though she plastered her face with superficiality.
She stooped over the head of the tombstone, reading the icy words engraved. Love me when fields grow dry and nights grow cold. This was the right one.
She noticed few things that night; ignored the dirt covering her body, overlooked the glare of his eyes. He looked sad that night, she would make him happy. He wanted to be loved, she would love him. Yet his final wish did not satisfy her, only angered her for what she did not feel.
Through her head she played his mind, played what he may feel, what he may say. This time though, there was only rage in his words.
"What are you doing to me?" She imagined him asking.
"What are you doing?"
She dared not reply, dared not let her voice slip to show what really she felt. Somehow she felt his lifeless body knew.
She stood before the grave, the body dishevelled in its bed. She turned to go, leaving its eyes to the stars. She could not. It did not deserve to lie in a mess, to be open to the sky. She straightened him out, and returned the lid.
The next night she did not feel like going, and instead lay silently in her bed. No one lay beside her, no breathing body, no life-giving force. She wanted someone there, someone to comfort her, to hold her. There was one thing the dead could not do, and it was that which she yearned for. With a sudden urge she rose, leaving the house to its empty depths.
She walked amongst the graves, amongst the shallow homes of the dead. Her eyes flickered to catch the epitaph's, the final words left for them.
A beautiful face and a beautiful heart
A life worth remembering
Every day was a knew day, every day will be a new day
Their love will never die
"No indeed it won't." She stopped by the stone, reading the name, reading the dates. It was a young boy, too young. For this stranger she was sad, for this stranger she cried. A single tear, one tiny drop.
"You never got the chance to love."
Beside it sat another stone, the mark of another life. Always to be loved. This man was older, yet another tear slid down. She felt nothing for this man, as she had felt for others. He was the same, no different, but she felt only sadness. Sadness that there would be this life, lying with cold eyes, sleeping its final sleep. It deserves that final rest.
For the final time she slipped away from the graveyard, leaving behind the graves and their epitaphs. She knew one day she would belong there, and she would hope to sleep peacefully.