Page 59 of To Ashes and Dust
Oh God. I couldn’t count how many immortals rested within this hall. The air was heavy, an invisible weight bearing down on me as I stepped inside. I turned to find a small archway leading to what I assumed was another chamber like this one. How many immortals rested in this place?
A pair of immortals appeared from the dark depths, their faces worn and weary. Their eyes found me, and I hesitated, fearful of what they’d think. Did they know I was human? They dipped their heads as they passed, somber smiles barely lighting their weary faces. I dipped my head in response, which I wasn’t sure was the right thing to do, but it felt right.
Damien released my hand, his pace slow as he drifted toward the center. How many of these immortals did Damien know? How many of his friends rested here? My eyes followed to where his path led. I froze, heart threatening to burst from my chest at what lay before us.
It was her. No... It wasme.
In the center of the hall, illuminated by moonlight spilling in from an opening in the ceiling, stood an ornate, gold glass case. Dimós trees curved and wound their way to form a base around the case, tilting it upward. The branches fanned out, supporting numerous burning candles on their twisting limbs, and I couldn’t help but feel like they resembled the folded wings of a moth.
Nestled inside, amidst a bed of countless delicate pale flowers, lay Moira, as if she were merely sleeping. Her near-white hair lay in curls around her, her hands folded neatly over her stomach. She wore a white silk gown, the fabric shimmering as it captured the light of the moon. She was as beautiful in death as she was in life.
Damien stopped before her, and I gathered the courage to join. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing—that she was really here, that it didn’t look like a day had passed since she... since I’d died. I still felt so disconnected from her, my memories locked away. I couldn’t deny, though, a strange, almost thread-like connection between us, as if drawing me to her.
My fingers laced with Damien’s, and his head tilted, offering me a somber smile. He kissed my forehead, and my gaze drifted back to Moira. My brows furrowed as I noticed two urns woven into the branches on their own pedestals, labeled with delicate inscriptions in a language I couldn’t read.
“There rests Elena—” Damien gestured to the one on the left, before turning to the one on the right. “And there rests Lucia.”
I couldn’t find words, my gaze locked on the sleeping demigoddess. “She... I look like I might wake up at any moment.”
“Gods and goddesses do not die like we do. Their bodies do not wither and decay,” Damien explained. “Moira’s body will rest here until this temple crumples and the world falls to ruin.”
“I wonder why I can see Lucia and Elena’s memories but not Moira’s.”
Damien didn’t speak.
“Were Elena and Lucia able to remember?”
Damien swallowed. “Moira’s memories were always difficult to access. When you returned as Elena, they returned easier, but there were... gaps. When you returned as Lucia, Moira’s memories became more difficult. I wondered if maybe the memories of multiple lives were too much for one soul to bear. Maybe, with each rebirth, you grow further from Moira.”
I lifted my gaze to him, to the pain etched into his face. He’d shared so many experiences with Moira since they were children. To know I may never remember the times we’d shared, it must be painful for him.
“She’s beautiful,” I said, if only to break the painful silence.
“You are, and you’re just as beautiful in mortal form as you were in any immortal form you’ve taken.”
I smiled, his words touching me, but the smile faded. I lifted my eyes, my gaze drifting across the thousands of remains surrounding us. My heart hammered, and I feared what Damien might think of me for asking, but some deeper part of me needed to know. “Is... Emilia here?”
His amber and ashen eyes drifted to me. His sorrow seeped into my skin where our hands met, the icy-hot chill sinking into my chest. “She is. Would you like to visit her?”
I parted my lips, my eyes burning, and a cold hollow feeling tugged at my chest. I couldn’t help but feel foolish. Was it right for me to feel this way? I hadn’t physically lost her, and yet... I had. I’d dreamt of her many times since I’d remembered, tried to piece together any possibility of what she might’ve looked like.
“I feel like it’s not my place,” I said, voice quivering, and I blinked, furious that I was barely able to hold the tears at bay. Damien should be crying; he’d suffered the loss. Lucia had suffered the loss. Me? I simply remembered the loss, and yet... it stung so badly, the pain sinking so deep into my chest, I thought I might fall to my knees. All I could think about was how badly I wanted to hold her, to see her face, to watch her grow and thrive. So many things I’d wanted to do, and I’d never gotten the chance.
“It is,mea luna. Emilia is just as much yours as she is mine.”
I couldn’t meet his gaze, guilt and overwhelming sorrow clouding my thoughts.
“Come.” He took my hand, guiding me. I followed reluctantly, eyes never leaving the face of my sleeping self, nestled amidst the pale blossoms.
We came to a halt at the back wall. Carved into the black stone was an alcove. Along the interior walls were carved out shelves, which held thick, half-melted candles, lit with delicate blue flames. Wax cooled and hardened as it dripped down the candles and onto the walls, except for one which had fully melted, the wick dying out just as the flame extinguished. I drew a sharp breath when the melted wax snaked back up the wall, reforming the candle, the delicate blue flame springing back to life. It was mesmerizing.
On the arched opening were words written in a language I couldn’t understand, and I wondered what this special place was. My eyes fell to the three ornate urns before me, nestled in their own smaller alcoves, more inscriptions labeling each one, more words I couldn’t read.
“My mother and father rest here,” he said as he approached the wall. He laid his hand against one of the clay urns at the top. His eyes fell then to the single smaller urn beneath them, and a sad smile stretched his lips. He knelt, his hand sliding from the urn and down the black stone, until it rested against the lone clay container of ashes.
Sweet words left his lips in a whisper, his loving gaze drifting over the ashes. “Mouen Elispsais, mea stellaros.”
I hesitated, my heart pounding. I couldn’t do this, couldn’t face it. I wanted to run. I wasn’t ready to see her, not yet… but my feet cemented in place, my body refusing to leave.
