Exposure

Chapter 20 (Epilogue)

Aesop's POV

The embalmer sat in a room drenched in sunlight from the open bay windows. Summer air and birdsong floated lazily to meet this artist's deaf ears; he clearly in absorbed in his work to listen. Tools and makeup pallets were strewn across his wooden countertops as if an earthquake had shaken them up.

In the corner of the room was a single bed with patchwork covers and rumpled pillows that the previous earthquake had obviously also wrecked. It was clear the tortured artist was far too restless to sleep, too enthralled in his latest masterpiece.
The room itself was all very rough spun and homemade. Some may have even called it cramped but the embalmer was satisfied with his space. He knew that his lover would love it too.

Everyday, an owl with a blue eye would fly to his window and drop a letter with his name printed on the envelope. The embalmer was enraged when it first had the gall to land on his windowsill, but after all these months and so many tears had dried, the owl's presence simply irked him. Still, the embalmer would refuse to respond to it's master. Each letter that was delivered was promptly dropped into the glowing ashes in his small fireplace. He used to watch each page burn with hatred in his eyes, now he had to remind himself to light it as too many letters built up there.

There was one day a different letter was delivered through his door. It was written in cursive hand that sent shivers down the embalmer's spine and brought him back to a much darker time. However, this would be the last time he would have to remember. He was finally having his wish granted.

The embalmer leaned forward on his stool as he worked on some of the finer details. His hair hung loose around his shoulders and was lit up silver by the sunlight. His teeth, chewed anxiously on his lip as he worked on one of the more precarious features.

The embalmer's wish was more one more surrogate coffin.

A photograph was pinned to the coffin of the embalmer and another who was his light in his darker times. He was now using it as a reference for this masterpiece he was working on. The embalmer's muse had white blonde hair that felt like silk and moved like ribbons, he had aquamarine eyes that you would be grateful to fall into, and skin as perfect as porcelain.

Aesop finally leaned back and released a long breath he didn't know that he was holding, the surrogate was done. Now all it needed was the mystical powers of the coffin to give it it's soul back.

Aesop reached into his countertop and produced a small box with a very well kept stone ring inside. It was a match to the more worn one on his own finger. Gently, with the tenderness of a parent, Aesop slid the ring onto the surrogate's finger.
"My love, I don't have to wait another lifetime to see you again." He whispered.

Soft wind blew through the windows and sunlight spilled over Joseph as he inhaled deeply and opened his eyes.