Vie placed a pair of the large flowers onto Pimento’s grave and bowed deeply. She mourned Liszt in the old terran fashion. It was a strange sight to see a Fey kneel before a terran boneyard and pray for their soul. But, Vie was always a believer in respecting the values of others. And while Pimento spoke little of Terran religion or theology, she never missed a night of prayer.
To what or whom, Liszt would never know. To her knowledge, it was a consensus between Pimento, Basil, and several of the others who left the Old Order. There were no gods left to worship after the fires devoured new terra.
But Pimento argued still, that she would pray for their souls. Not for any god to listen, but as a reminder. “A prayer is a promise to one’s soul, not a demand aimed at a higher power. What arrogant mortal thinks they deserve the time, attention, or power of a god? Learn to have faith in yourself.” Pimento argued to her dying day, that prayer is an oath of responsibility, and that relying upon anyone else to answer your daily prayers was a blasphemous insult to divinity.
Because if there really was a god who was all powerful, and you were made in their image, you wouldn’t need to pray to get their attention. A real god would know, intuitively and absolutely. The Terran gods were all just reflection of their cultural fears, Pim would say. Terran gods are all flawed, because Terrans struggle to come to terms with their own imperfections, and project themselves onto avatars with unfathomable powers.
A prayer is a personal covenant. And one Pimento would never fully reveal in her lifetime. When she was young, Liszt assumed it was some sort of secret that Pim would teach her when she was ready.
With age, Liszt became resigned to the knowledge that she was never truly meant to understand the process. Pimento was an artist, and Liszt had the privilege of seeing every one of Pimento’s drafts and iterations. Liszt was raised to see the work, not just the results of them.
Maybe all of these philosophies she painstakingly documented and committed to memory, were just things that Pimento believed during a short part of her life. Perhaps they meant nothing in the scheme of things. But nonetheless, Liszt took every word into consideration and to heart. Because at some point or another in her mother’s life, it had mattered.
Liszt placed a plate with pancakes in front of the grave as Basil cracked open a pre-war liquor bottle. She measured out a shot glass and poured it onto the grave.
*Take care of Baz for me. She never takes time off, so I’m sure she’ll just be wearing herself out more once I’m gone. Feel free to knock some sense into her, for my sake.*
Liszt gave each of them their moment. It was one of the few times each year that Vie or Asmo were willing to let their guard down.
“H-hey mum. I… I tried cooking for you today. I’ve been trying to be more present, but I still don’t understand Confucius. I keep reading the books you told me to, and I’d like to think they make more sense every year. But I still don’t quite understand it all.” Asmo’s typically boisterous voice was a whisper. “I miss you so much. I wish you could see me now. Sorry for always being such a pain in the ass. I didn’t mean any of it. I was just lonely.”
He didn’t hide his tears. He was growing up, slowly but surely. Something that Pimento always kept faith about. Despite her harsh tongue and demands, Pimento just wanted each of them to learn to fend for themselves.
Pimento had spent countless hours fine tuning the archive, expanding the memory and storage. They’d spent sleepless nights building up the infrastructure with trial and error. She did it because she knew his eventual potential, and even if she didn’t understand him, she would encourage the few things in life he was confident about.
It was Pimento that sent Asmodeus down his rabbit hole of scholarly pursuit, a rare occurrence amongst Lupine nobility. She’d wagered that it would soothe his temperament to learn from the great philosophers, but instead, his impulsive anger had turned into a years-long stint in nihilism and cynicism. A decade of overthinking, and over analyzing every aspect of his life. But in the end, it was just another one of her schemes, just one that she would never live long enough to see come to fruition. Pimento was always a woman of faith, even after religion had long left her.
Liszt could hear the old words in Pim’s voice: ‘The fruit that takes the longest to ripen tastes the sweetest.’ In life they’d usually be joined by a groan and an air of sarcasm. But there was truth to those words.
His journey was far from over. But he’d been taught to grieve and grow. And in that Pimento could find peace in the end.
Lili took her turn and complained loudly about her sibling’s behavior, before tearfully crumpling into the fetal position over Pim’s grave, confessing her own sins in whispered tones.
Liszt stifled a chuckle. Lili would always complain about having to take things seriously, and of the boring nature of the mundane. But Lilith was earnest enough to take heart in her foster father's ideals.
It was something that Pimento had valued in life. The personal absolution of guilt and sin. There was no priest or clergy to absolve them, so it was their duty to break the chains of guilt and obligation on their own time.
Confessing and baring the souls was the second hardest part. Forgiving yourself? A nearly impossible task.
Nyx took her turn quickly. Given her habit of constantly moving around the grounds, Nyx made a point to regularly visit Pimento and the others. To her, today was no different. She would care for the graves year round. This was about the ritual that the others performed. Nyx approached the grave, placed a flower, bowed solemnly, and took her leave.
Vie took her moment to adorn Pimento’s grave with wreaths of rare and beautiful flowers. She considered each guardian’s favorite for their birthday. Like Nyx, Vie often wandered out to the fields to manicure and prune the lawn, and to look for guidance in the headstones. There was no need for a prolonged cry. The others had said their peace.
“You’re okay being alone now?” Basil asked Liszt, once the others had taken their turns
Liszt nodded. She sat cross legged in front of Liszt’s gravestone as the others packed up. As the sun cracked the treeline, the others gave Liszt her space. She felt Nyx hug her tightly, and Asmo gave her a quick thumbs up, while wiping his own tears away. Lili was bawling, and Vie and Basil each took one of her arms and helped carry her back home, and away from earshot.
Physically, Liszt was finally alone. But here she kneeled at the resting place of her forebears.
She was bonded to these graves, and the dying fields, not by something as simple and excusable as a bloodline, but by covenant. Her progenitors were bound to her by the same covenant that inarguably linked each of those willing to sacrifice everything for a complete stranger. A legacy she had sworn to uphold.
*I love you, Liszt, and I’m sorry that I won’t be around long enough to see you grow old. But know that I’m always with you. Please take care of the others, they’ll need all the help they can get.*
She let the words rest in her head, as the sound of birds slipping through the trees and the sounds of the trees coming to life rang through the flatlands.
*You’re gonna do great things. So please. Live a full life, and treasure the time you do have. Because nothing lasts forever, and trust me, you can’t spend your life looking backwards.*
‘It’s what mom would have wanted’ was such an odd concept. Because how could any of them have really known what Pimento truly wanted? Liszt fought back her frustrations as long as possible.
*Live your life with that beautiful madness you’ve always had. And know that I am now, and always will be proud of you.*
Liszt let the feeling wash over her. It was overwhelming, more with each passing year. The frustration of loss, the loneliness. Fear, true fear. Fear of losing more of her family. The knowledge of maturity, and the unspoken acknowledgement of work and sacrifice.
*You don’t have to do anything in your life except your best, Liszt. We will love you no matter what, just be true to your nature.*
Liszt felt a pang of guilt and envy she had yet to reconcile with her nature. She watched as each of her siblings seemed to painlessly fall into their own archetypes. They knew their talents and played to their strengths.
Liszt however, could never stay in place long enough to truly find passion in anything that involved sitting still and acknowledging the abyss. She feared the silence and stillness. The inevitable march to oblivion.
She was young, and yet every day felt like stolen time. Time that was harvested by throwing countless lives into the fire of battle, to kindle her quiet life. And it was unsustainable. It was exhausting to hold oneself to such standards, but it was what kept her alive through all of these years.
*Maybe now I’ll finally get some sleep…*
Liszt felt the tears fall down her face, as she listened to the last of Pimento’s words.
There was the faint sound of pained coughing and an audible click, as the file ended, and the reader stopped playback.
And then there was silence. The sun was rising, another day was upon them. And Liszt had no other responsibilities that day than to stand up, dust herself off, and continue the work. Liszt was uneasy, indecision felt like poison. But Pimento and Basil both insisted she take days off every now and then. It wasn’t easy to sit in stillness, but Liszt had to try.
She took a deep breath and counted to ten, before composing herself with a smile. She leaned forward to fidget with the arraignment of flowers on Pimento’s grave one final time. She nitpicked until they were just right, before collecting her things and catching up with the others.
As she approached, still jelly legged, Liszt felt Lilith link arms with her.
Her sister’s darling words filled her ears, and Liszt cherished the silly ideas that gushed out of the small dæmon’s mouth. Lili began announcing ‘their’ plans together for the day and jostling Liszt. Though she didn’t register the words, Liszt beamed proudly at Lili and her hairbrained schemes.
Liszt stopped one last time to turn and look at the dying fields. There were enough plots for all of them, and perhaps a thousand more someday. Lili was confused by the sudden change of pace in their stride and fumbled slightly, glancing up at her sister.
“Happy Birthday, Mom.” Liszt whispered. Staring at the graves, and at the rising sun.
Lilith paused and nodded. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOM! WE LOVE YOU!” She hollered at full volume. Several startled flocks of birds took flight from nearby trees.
The others joined in the festivities, and Lili pulled Liszt in a bear hug, her small frame hiding immense strength. Liszt protested, as Lilith began lifting her up and squeezing the tears back out of her. The two yelled as loudly as possible in the small competitive way that siblings do.
“MOM! PIM! I LOVE YOU MOST!”
The others joined in. Pim would always complain about how disruptive and loud they were as kids. But this was poetry to Liszt’s ears. Screaming at sunrise to the sound of angry and confused birds cawing at the daybreak, laughing until they cried. Liszt could hear in her mind’s eye the sound of a younger Pimento being woken at her desk after passing out in the middle of an all-nighter, and the sound of her voice screaming at them to shut up and get to the point already.
But Pimento embraced it all in the end. She was happy in her final moments. She wasn’t afraid of the work left unfinished, because she knew she had a living legacy.
And even if she didn’t, she had done all that she could with the time that she had. Liszt had no obligation to a living soul to continue the work. “But,” she told herself. “Someone had to.”
Lili fought back giggles and tears as the sisters tickled and wrestled, before finally breaking free. She faked a pout before patting Liszt’s head in affirmation, and the two cackled as they made their way back home. Reveling in their love for their foster mother, and for each other.
It’s what Pim would’ve wanted, she told herself. Or close enough in some poetic, cosmic way that Mama Pim would’ve appreciated and found beauty within.
Liszt had done her best this morning. They’d all done their best. And for once in her life, it really was good enough.
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