Memento Mori

warning: content contains scenes of gore and death

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Memento Mori: 'an object kept as a reminder of the inevitability of death, such as a skull.' In Latin, it means, 'remember death,' or, 'remember you will die.' Again, a saying showcasing the inevitability of death.

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Alessia Rook was dead.

She was, irrefutably, dead as a doornail.

'Ah.'

'I'm dead.'

That was the last thought before she had collapsed.

She had known that she was about to die - she had the feeling she was about to, what with her worsening health, so she wrote the letters.

Two of them were to herself, and the other was to a person that had been almost irreplaceable in the last ten years of her life.

The girl.

Alessia's life had flashed before her eyes before her death.

Memories of her dead husband and deader son. Of her life - correction, former life.

Alessia Basset had been born the daughter of a wealthy-enough merchant. She had been pretty, and the target of admiration during her school days. Equipped with the rare tool of calculative cunning, Alessia had gradually made her way up the social ladder.

When she was young, she had been faced with disdain from her family.

'You're too greedy,' her mother had said, 'your eyes long for too much.'

Wasn't greed just simply wanting more than the world could give you, and doing anything to fulfill your desires? Alessia had dreamed of wanting to be at the top of her own world, powerful enough to live her life without regrets. If that was considered avarice, than Alessia would gladly accept the title.

At first, she hadn't known what to do when he had confessed.

'Alessia.' Marco Laver, the merchant's second son, had looked into her eyes and had declared his love. 'Will you marry me?'

But the promise of wealth and power was all she needed. Love? What was the use of loving someone? There only existed opportunities, which existed to be taken. So Alessia had taken the opportunity to marry the love-stricken boy that had been Marco. He had known, of course, that Alessia didn't love him, as she had told him herself after the marriage. But he had treated her with love regardless.

'The fool.'

And for that, she appreciated him.

At least, enough to bear a child.

Marco, her life partner. Never lover, never husband.

A partner, and the father of her child.

Phillip Laver-Basset. That had been his name.

'Phillip.'

Alessia's consciousness had associated the name with a tirade of grief. Because even she had a heart.

Her son, whom she had cared for. The boy with Marco's dark hair and dark skin, and big hazel eyes. The cute child who she had given her heart to. He was, in fact, one of the only two people in her lifetime that she, as Alessia Laver-Basset Rook, had given her heart to.

Her son had been her life.

Until he had died.

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'Sia, Phil and I are going out.' Marco had grinned. 'I'm going to pick up a sword for him.'

'The boy's five years old.' Alessia had smiled, amused. 'How are you going to train him in the art of the sword?'

Phillip had popped up from behind Marco's legs. 'Papa's going to teach me! We're going to go out, in a carriage!'

Alessia had ruffled his hair. 'Alright, then.' She looked at Marco's handsome face, the face that had been there for her, through bad times and the good. 'Be back before dinner.' Alessia hesitated, before speaking words she had realized were true, two words that had taken years to draw out: 'Love you.'

Mixed emotions. After months of internal turmoil and deliberation, Alessia had confessed her feelings, that made her heart beat faster whenever Marco chose again, and again, to stay by her side.

Marco's eyes had widened. Swimming in his eyes...had been tears?

'Did love...matter that much to him?' Alessia had been confused. 'He-'

Marco flew forward and kissed her on the cheek, for the first time after their marriage.

He had cheerfully said, 'I love you too.'

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Those were the last words Alessia had heard before...

It had only been one hour before a servant had returned, frenzied.

'The Master and Young Master are- A carriage accident-'

Alessia had rushed to the scene to see two limp, distorted bodies against the bloody Rook cobblestones. A pair of crushed skulls, along with scarlet-covered bone and mangled flesh, underneath a carriage. One mutilated small body against another one. Both were horrifyingly familiar, contorted into grotesque positions.

Carriage accidents...weren't common in Rook.

They happened, but how...why...

'No...Phillip...Marco…'

She fell to her knees. The crowd looked at her pityingly, as she let out a long, tortured, uncontrollable, wail. All the years she had spent keeping calm, methodically crushing each obstacle in her path, vanished as she grieved, sobbing, her tears streaking the bloody cobblestones.

A newfound love, and her child. All gone.

She had become widowed and childless all in one day.

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"We are gathered here today, in the memory of two…"

The words were a blur.

"Souveraine de las alica."

She followed, her mind somewhere else.

"Souveraine de las alica," she said.

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The years hadn't dulled the pain, but had numbed it. Trudging through it all and rebuilding her lost fortune, she had risen to become a public figure in Rook. She had fought tooth and nail for her position. Her dream was the only thing she had left, her dream of standing at the top. It was...the only thing she had left.

Ambition was all she had left.

'If I can't be happy,' she had mused, 'I'll at least fulfill my childhood dream.'

She had stared out at the window.

Years had passed, and she had been left alone, with an added surname of 'Rook,' one a person gained when elected as mayor.

'It's the least I can do...for myself.'

Alessia was brought out of her thoughts when she heard a knock at the door. That was when it had all started. The carefree young lady, who hid a thousand words behind a smile and glance. She had introduced herself as Ingrid Signia, but it was obvious she was a noble lady. Surprisingly, she could keep up with Alessia's probing, merry-go-round conversations that were never direct. On a whim, she had given her the position of administrator, a role the girl had lived up to for ten years.

In those ten years, the girl had become more than a working partner. When she had figured out Alessia's past, her gaze hadn't been filled with pity, or anything similar to it. Just...understanding.

Alessia hadn't treated her any differently, either. The girl had become almost like a daughter, strangely.

But, everyone was multifaceted.

Ingrid wasn't an exception.

Alessia had observed throughout the years her carefree exterior slowly harden into a ice-like, distant one. Perhaps that had been her original self, or just another part of her personality. Sometimes, she would have this sharp look in her eyes that unsettled even Alessia. She behaved almost like a child at times, too, but it didn't make her any less of a capable person. But most of the time, she was a good enough person that Alessia treated well.

Extremely well, in fact, that she had dedicated a letter to Ingrid.

'Grandirr. Age.' The person she wanted to see grow up the most, was that girl who had showed up on her doorstep with.

After being told she was greedy, so many times, she had accepted it as a fact.

She had been a greedy person. This was a fact.

Alessia Laver-Basset Rook really had only thought about herself, and three others, to the end.

Alessia Rook was dead.

She was, irrefutably, dead as a doornail.

----

The 'black-pepper crab auntie' was a greedy old woman.

Kindly to most, opportunistic to those who knew her well.

Setting up a stall near a high school for the wealthy had been a good choice, to rake in the money. Her most loyal customer, a carefree young girl who had introduced herself as having the last name Yu, was also her source of income.

Selling crab hadn't been her whole life.

Her sons and daughters had all left, ashamed of their background.

She had cooked pepper crab for each and every one of them.

So, she set out for profit. When she was young, she wanted to be a rich woman, for herself. A far away dream, now.

The husband she had met and married had complained about her greediness and had cheated on her, leaving with a woman half her age.

The auntie wiped away her sweat.

'Aiii…'

So what if she was a bit greedy?

Her desires had never hurt anyone...besides her dreams.

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