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It was a surprise when I met him at the garden connected from the survivors to the hunters. Though it was the most safest place for them, the survivors have never been set foot to this peaceful Eden (with the exception of the gardener who loves to come and go as she pleased to tend the garden), or at least during the evenings. It was an unspoken rule for everyone that the morning belonged to them whereas the night belonged to us so it was a surprise to see the embalmer crouching down with his guard low, who was seemingly caressing the yellow roses.
The moonlight made the roses glow, giving an ethereal look to them even to the monochromed man in front of me. He was silent and still, like a statue sleeping peacefully. I walked up to him, stood by his side and couldn’t help to notice the slight flinch of his shoulders.
He intrigued me when I set my eyes on him for the first time. It was just a plain curiosity, who wouldn’t be when they see a new survivor whom they have never met nor seen before, sitting ever so silently behind the table not even bothering to converse with the other survivors who were chattering about, discussing over their plan. He was just simply there, looking through his somewhat makeup box with his gloved hands to see if everything was there and ready for the upcoming match.
Embalmer was his title, full of gray fitting for his dull occupation. He was quiet, his mask covering half of his face as if to avoid letting people see his true self. I won’t deny that I thought he was simply shy, a typical easy target to be hunted but his empty eyes said otherwise. It was as if nothing in this world entertained him nor interested him. He just simply looked nothing.
“Bonsoir embalmer, what business do you have here late at night?” I asked him. Indeed it was late, almost all the lights inside the manor were dimmed deeming the residents to be asleep. I was also to be asleep during this hour, taking care of my skin to lessen the cracks of it but curse this manor for wrecking my beauty. However my sleep was never calm these days, nightmares of Claude still haunted me with his damned coughing and that melancholy smile of his. “You do realize that hunters can still hunt you down, no?”
Of course it was meant to be a joke but the embalmer answered it quite monotonically, not batting an eye even. “That’s quite impossible, the rules have said we are not allowed to be injured nor even to be harassed by the likes of you.”
I chuckled at that and plucked a rose from the bush, twirling it around to look at the beauty. “You learned fast for a newcomer, tell me your name as I didn’t get it upon our first meeting earlier.”
“Before I give you mine, isn’t it a courtesy for the one asking to give theirs first?”
“Oh my, do forgive my mistake. My name is Joseph Desaulniers, or better known as the photographer. It’s a pleasure to meet an amusing person such as you are.”
“Aesop Carl, embalmer.”
“Quite short of an introduction I must say. Not a fan of talking I assume?”
“I just like silence.”
“Hm. Touche.”
And silence we have gotten. The buzz of nocturnal insects and of wind rustling through flowers were the only ones occupying it leaving just to our breathings, mine more prominent. The rose was still in my hand, its fragile petals urging me to pluck them off for what other reason rather than because life itself is weak and fragile. With one petal gone, the rose still looked beautiful and it vexed me.
“So you embalm? How does that work during the matches?” I kept on staring at the yellow rose as I plucked another petal off from it.
“What makes you think a survivor would tell the hunter about it?” he questioned back. I noticed him fidgeting his gloved fingers together.
“I was merely trying to make a conversation.”
And another petal was out.
“A conversation to gain advantage you mean.”
That made me snickered, what a feisty petite mouse this little carl is. “Then let me ask you another question, what made you come here?”
Everyone had a reason to come here, whether they were damned or they just simply here for rewards. Some come for riches, some for other wicked prizes and some were just simply here for simply... nothing. I too have come here for a reason, but my memory had become too hazy to remember it correctly except for the fact that it had to do something with Claude.
I plucked out yet another petal off from the rose.
“I see no reason for me to answer that?” he said, but his questioning tone turned it into a question instead.
“Do make my night more eventful will you?”
The embalmer then finally turned his head up to me as I turned mine down towards his as well. Again, his eyes were void of emotions and the empty heart inside of me beat once again. A sigh was released beneath his mask as he replied back, quite begrudgingly that is.
“I did not, nor do I do have any reason to come here.”
“Care to elaborate?”
His eyebrows twitched at that. “The letter was not mine, it belonged to one of my… customers .” His attention was back towards the rose bush, touching yet another rose full of tender. How could one move their hands so smoothly and full of gentleness? How does his hands look like beneath those gloves of his? How would it feel if those same hands trailed upon my skin? I plucked out another petal. The embalmer cleared his throat as he continued, “With nothing much to do after my supposed father passed, I have arrived here. I was expecting a different life but yet it seemed it’s the same as everywhere else.”
“Oh what’s the similarity?”
He looked up at me and said in a dead tone. “People tend to talk.”
I couldn’t stop the laugh releasing from my mouth. “Aaah.. you’re quite an interesting one I have to say.”
The embalmer didn’t say anything and let me be. Indeed, he was a funny fellow. He himself looked weak and timid despite his height but his lips do have a potential to spit flames.
“So I can assume that you’re more comfortable with corpses? And that is the reason why you become an embalmer?”
“At least they don’t ask any questions.”
I didn’t stop plucking the petals off. “Hm. So you like death is what you're saying.”
“Death is…” he trailed off. It looked like he was thinking of proper words to say. “... quite an interesting thing.”
“ Wretched you mean?” The rose in my hand was now ugly and life tended to be that way. As you age, your beauty becomes lessened, your life span steadily decreasing, the meaning of your life slowly losing their reason. What was the point of living when in the end death is upon your doors and you will just simply end there? To disappear as if you didn’t exist in the first place? I gritted my teeth at that, irritated by the memory of Claude’s death. “ A wretched, vile and disgusting thing . ”
Aesop just stared at me, still and quiet. I didn’t even notice that I had crushed the rose in my hand. Indeed death was hideous, and I believed that because of all the people I have killed. Nothing was beautiful about it. Nothing.
“Indeed it is a wretched thing to exist in this world where living beings needed a reason to live. How could it be your final destination when you have worked so hard to stay alive? Does another life exist after we cross that bridge? No one actually knows but I’m not in a rush to seek it. However so-,” he plucked a rose out and stood up. “-death is the only proof that we were alive in the first place, that we do exist.”
Memories of Claude flashed through my head. I remembered the anger and remorse I felt when he had fallen sick and stayed in bed every single day. His leaving hurted me, it pained me every single day when I think about it but I knew from the deepest down of my core when I received the news of my dearest brother’s death, that I have felt relief and it disgusted me.
The embalmer held the rose right in front of his face, inspecting what even I don't know. “Life itself is a wretched thing as well. Yet in the same time held beauty so why can’t death be the same?”
The night was blue and the roses were glowing. The air was chilling and we were the only ones awake and standing in this garden. The petals that I have plucked were carried by the wind as Aesop slowly walked up to me and tucked the rose he had held behind my ear. I didn’t miss the gentle caress of his gloved fingers on the side of my face, curious about the cracks before he took a step back.
“That death can be beautiful as well?”
With that, Aesop turned and walked inside the manor leaving me alone in the chilly night of the garden. I touched the rose carefully, what he did had taken my breath away. Quel beau parleur. I muttered to myself, I didn’t even notice the heat that has grown to my face and the neverending beats of my heart.
Ah Claude, how this rose really reminds me of you , I thought to myself. I touched the cracked porcelain of my cheek where I could still feel his gentle touch. I wanted more of him.