When I woke up this morning, it was raining. It continued to poor down as I pulled on my coat and laced my boots. I opened the door, and stepped outside. The wind slammed into my chest, and I could hear tree branches creaking in protest. I lit the lantern, closing it’s little glass door. The small flame didn’t do much to help me see when I was already shielding my eyes from the wind.

As always, it’s dark when I leave in the morning. But it will be light when I get back. I walk down the path I’ve known since I was small, tracing generations of executioner’s footsteps. The trail looks so obvious to me now, when I was younger it’s bends and twists seemed random.

My boot gets stuck in a thick puddle of mud, making me stop to work my foot free. Finally, the shoe escapes, making a loud splorch sound as the wet earth lets go. I shake my head, then carry on. The wind had calmed, but the rain itself seemed as fierce as ever. I didn’t mind, it was better than being too warm. Though it did get annoying when I was trying to dry my laundry. The weather here could change without warning, sunny skies for weeks and then suddenly it would rain till we had floods and mudslides.

Which was one of the reasons this trail could be so dangerous. In some places there's nothing but a steep slope down one side, and in those areas the land can give way easily. Sometimes we- or rather I- would have to make alternate paths to get to the shrine. Which was no longer an issue because now I knew exactly where my destination was, no matter the direction I took to get there. It was like there was some kind of internal compass that was constantly pointing to the shrine.

I know I’m coming close to the cave entrance when I see the big stone slabs lined up and standing tall to my left. As always, they were weathered down with moss and lichen covering their faces. I’ve made it a habit to run my fingers against them as I walk by. Something about their cold fuzzy surfaces is reassuring. I feel calmer, more centered, after passing by them.

Pushing aside the heavy curtain of vines, I step into the cave. Using the lantern to light the torch in the sconce, I make a mental note to bring new torches to replace these older ones. Which wasn’t a problem, I needed to go into town anyways.

I walk down the steps, a small smile forming when I remember how Bernard had to duck here. The ceiling had always been too low for him. Though it was just the right height for me now.

I dip the torch into the braziers around the circular shrine. I pause at a section of skulls, where a new one has joined their ranks. This had been Bernard's master, Relin. Once this skull had sat upon the pedestal in the center, but now it rested beside his old master, and the one before him. There were now two faded red streaks coming from it’s eye sockets. Much like the dark markings under my eyes. A year ago, those hadn’t been there. A year ago, Bernard had been.

I looked away and tossed the last bit of the torch to the braziers before it burned me. I took a deep breath and then turned around to face the center. The pedestal. Resting there was a new skull. Pure white, not an ounce of stain anywhere on its surface. I had made extra sure that this one would be the most polished, the cleanest of any skull in this shrine. The empty sockets seemed to drill into me.

I sit on my knees, resting my hands in my lap. I take a deep breath, my eyes closed. Doing my very best not to shed more tears over this particular piece of bone. I had wasted enough on it. Why was it that my sadness always seemed to be amplified in this chamber? Outside, at home, in town, I never felt like this. But one foot into this tomb, and I can hardly even hold back the drops that fall from my eyes.

After reigning myself in, I open my eyes to stare back into those sockets. I try to smile.

“Good morning, Bernard.”