Oh, the Things we do for Love-

Emerald sat in the ground. The portrait was burned. Leonard and Merlyn had disappeared.

No charred existence remained. The smoke had descended like a cloak. When it lifted, nothing remained. A magic trick.

She has never been good with that. Merlyn was. She would always explain her. She was not here though.

She had not aged, not for eleven years. She felt old though.

Emerald rose, entered the Manor again. Her home. The house had felt dead for the longest time, as she had beheld it from the Portrait.

She entered it, felt a warmth wash over her. The manor was rising; she looked at the hanging clock- 5 am.

She heard padded footsteps. The handmaid stopped, her face hanging open. She did not faint though, neither did she shriek. Just bowed.

Felt good to be home.

Turdley woke in awful darkness. The smoke had disrupted his vision.

Now, he did not understand- was he awake or dreaming, surely his eyes were closed. That would justify the darkness.

Someone stood. Floated at just the edge of his vision. No matter how much he turned, the figure persisted at the edge.

"You are quite filthy," the voice remarked.

Serving in a house suffused with power, yet this man made his skin prickle. He reeked of power.

"I have grown fond of her ideas, so I granted her last whim which she turned it into mine."

Her. A dead girl alive. A girl he had supposedly killed. Emerald. He was talking about his Mistress.

"Wish? What wish? Where, what is this place?"

"In our last meet, I told her, I did not have any blood on my hands. She requested me to have some. She said and I quote- it suits your job profile."

Turdley knew death; this was not a man- existence was beyond him. He felt his throat closing. "You cannot be biased. You cannot reap people at requests."

They cocked his head, nodding at the argument, "You all make interesting points before death."

There was silence for a while. Turdley realised that there was no breathing, he was not inhaling ragged breathes. His hands scurried to his heart.

It was quiet. Dead.

"I am dead," his voice held a marvel.

They were not impressed with this analogy though, "you have murder of quite a fair share in your hands. There always would be that all humans have. Why did you want to murder the people you wish to loyally serve?"

"Just one. I wished the death of only one. Emerald Willington. Yet, somehow only she lived and I killed many more."

"Your memory was not distorted?"

Turdley licked his lips, although he felt nothing. No fear or rage. It was a habit, a habit of a living one. Soon, he will get rid of that too. He remembered everything, did not understand how his failed plan suddenly succeeded. With time, he managed to alternate his memory himself; he did not need the aid of Death. His humanness did the deed.

"It was not," he simply replied.

"You wanted to serve her; you were ready to tend to her Spirit. You heard her voice. Did all her commands even when you presumed her dead. Why kill her then?"

Turdley considered the question, "I was way too inclined towards her." He shook his head, "it made my loyalty bias. My father told me, my task was to serve the needs of the Manor and not the Mistress alone. She made it difficult. It was hindering my job. I could not afford that. I was too young and my family legacy of loyal servitude was at stake."

He felt a lightness inside him. "I regretted it, it ruined the family. I broke the cord of the family- I swore to protect. When I felt her return, all I wanted was to serve her. I thought I could finally find penance. Finally serve the true Mistress of the Manor because it was she. I realized it late."

He felt weightless now, "I deserve this."

They nodded, "Once in a while, mortals like you come along and I feel young again."

"You can take me."

They looked amused, "not that I need your permit, but is humbling nonetheless."

The Turdley, the manager would have turned red to such a comment, but this free soul felt good not to feel that. Free.

"I will serve my punishment."

They nodded, finally edging closer. "Serving. Yes."

The real memories returned. Emerald Willington had always been alive. She had suffered a tragic loss eleven years ago.

Her years came back- gracefully though. Everyone wanted to know the reason of her youth. Then, when you are rich, these things are nothing but a flick of a finger. Apparently.

She appointed a new manager. The old one had died of a heart attack in the third landing.

She went to meet her Husband; there was not lack of love between them. Strangely, he and Leo had grown apart. James left the Manor, though she was not surprised. He had been away, far from the Accident, far from the burning, that day eleven years ago. She was happy about that.

"We have to move forward. That's the only way," said as he traced patterns in the inside of her palm. She looked up at his grey eyes. Leo definitely got his resilience from him. She wondered for the briefest time- if he remembers everything as it transpired. For him has Leonard and Merlyn been dead for eleven years? She felt lonely.

He looked at her. She wondered what he sees. A wistful woman who turned everything around to fight Nature itself, who then returned defeated hurting the living instead? He suddenly smiled lightening his face. She had not been able to see him, tied to the grounds of the Manor.

Now she can.

"Looking handsome?"

She laughed, "Yes, you look beautiful."

"Fine as wine huh?"

She nodded. Eleven years. Not seen him for eleven years.

He frowned, brushing her hair. She realized what it was- the eyes, they reflected, the same.

Emerald felt her accelerated heart beating faster. He held her gaze.

He was waiting for her to understand. "You remember?"

He held her, "I remember. I remember it all."

It was a long silence. Some part of Emerald still wondered if it was plausible to fit into James pockets.

"You can say, 'I hate you', I will forgive you later," she lowered her gaze further, "and you can take as much time as you want."

"I have waited a long time, lived with technically ghosts, meet a creepy creature I was not supposed to see for a long time, now, and have not seen my Wife in eleven years."

It dawned at her. Creepy creature- the nerve of that Being visiting him, and his growing distance from Leonard. "You knew? About Leonard?"

He nodded, "I could not trust his existence. Was not even sure if he was real, or just like a memory loop or just a figment of an entire soul, though he grew, I watched over him from a distance" he frowned, "Death cannot be twisted," he said this in a rush, "I know, I understand but somethings are just-"he stumbled.

"There." I finished for him.

He looked at me, "got the easy word." At her smile he continued, "You are not forgiven for all this, I will take my revenge for the rest of our lives."

"I promised, you know, I would come. Although I thought, you must have forgotten like everyone. Did you remember that?" considering he remembers everything.

He looked at her slitting his eyes, "I did, maybe that was your saving grace," he added a little after, "maybe mine."

She played with his cufflinks. It glinted as she fiddled.

"On a scale of 1-10, how mad are you at me?"

"Hovering close to infinity, I am sure you can see it in my stern eyes, my stern facial expressions and overall demeanour."

She chortled, stunning herself. He mirrored her laugh.

She looked at the grey in his dark raven hair; it had more than she remembered. She let her fingers curl in them.

"Even my hair, apparently speaks up about my fuming rage," he was fond of his hair as much as she was though, "What are you exactly indicating?"

Rage was like defence, a fierce wall protecting the humanness inside. When it settled, grief flutters its tiny wings to be finally recognized and marks her dominance. It can exist with anything- happiness, anger, anticipation, apprehensions- it was gifted that way.

They were not there for each other in their anger.

"Nothing, your hair still shines. Going on with the same personalized shampoo, are we? I want it, now."

He gave a dramatic sign, "ah, I forgot what a trouble having you is." Emerald pinched him- an impulse action so familiar, the years passed did not seemed not so wide.

After sometime, they quietened then.

Emerald let the entire conversation reel in her head, letting his words, this sink in. Too ashamed to look at him. He knew that, he did not ask her to look up, "let's move forward now."

She nodded, planning to cook his favourite- ratatouille, "yeah, let's."

Everyone hits different during grief. Some heal in silence giving it time, letting the rage calm down. Some thrash around looking for purchase, finding a solution for the grief. Hoping something can change death, hoping some sacrifice can bring them back.

It was wistful. A hope so dangerous.

James Willington knew that. After losing his son, half his family diminished, meeting a being as old as time, and Emerald's rash deal.

If it were so easy, he doubted death would have the solid hold of fear and longing under possession.

He remembered, while everyone pretended to wake from a nightmare. He did not understand which side of the threshold would make him happy. Both felt illusionary. He detested that.

Running away has never been his strong suit; he loathed that kind of weakness. That kind of surreal beliefs. He wanted the reality back, harsh it maybe was. He wanted to secure the people who can be still be protected, be for them, be for his Wife.

Eleven years had calmed him down, made his grief an underlying layer. He co-existed with it. He knew she would return. Patience has always been his strength, not hers no matter how much she claimed the other way round.

She came, she did promise that much. To return from what, only that remained. It was done. She went to the extremes, explored it and tackled. She can move forward now. Finally, he can too.

Now, he wanted to move. Ahead.