The Death Of Romance

Chapter Seven: Me, Her, And My Mother's Head

I had escorted Sabra straight through the taxidermy room, then to our apothecary, and even into our garden filled mostly with poisonous plants. The whole time she had a tense expression darkening her features, which looked quite extraordinary on her.

"So, you did not take your husband's last name?" I asked curiously, as we sauntered towards the living room.

Sabra, who had been in a strange trance during the tour, suddenly became a little more alert and answered, "what makes you say that?"

"Zivai is an African surname. William does not look African. It was not difficult to guess."

"He could be South African. Lotta white folks over there," despite the attempt at humour, she looked at me in complete bewilderment. There was something about her eyes in that moment; the endless darkness lightened, and suddenly there was an end to Tartarus. As if I had reached the bottom and had become entombed in there with the Titans. The only way to describe it is that her eyes, usually such a dark brown that they appeared black, were now a whole different shade of darkness. A few hues lighter, perhaps. "You...just knew that off the top of your head?"

I tore myself from the prison of her eyes and forced myself to hear her question. The answer was no, of course not. As soon as I'd heard her name I had written a letter to Uncle Themistocles, asking about its origin. He replied with a few pages worth of information, including it's meaning - 'Knowledge in God'. Uncle Themistocles spent much of his time cataloguing last names for he was not given one, and it has been his life's goal to find a suitable name.

"Yes. I read about it somewhere."

"Weird thing to be reading about," Sabra finally looked away, freeing me from her spell. "No, I didn't take his last name."

"For what reason?"

"I don't have one. It...just didn't feel right," she wandered further into the room where a slight chill made her shiver. "I mean, the whole concept of- AHHHH!"

Sabra's scream cut off anything she was planning to say. She stood there, frozen, and staring at the shrunken head that swung on a thick chord of rope near our fireplace.

"Oh, what a wonderful way to greet my mother! She has not heard a real mortal scream in years!"

"Your...m-mother?"

My dress swept across the floor as I passed by Sabra and planted a kiss on my mother's cheek. "Yes, it was her dearest wish to be made into a shrunken head upon her demise."

Sabra stared, then blinked, shivered, and then finally, laughed. She laughed for what felt like eternity, filling the manor with the strange sound. This was not a place that laughter often reached. It made the house uncomfortable, I could tell by the way it creaked beneath her feet.

"Okay, yeah, you almost got me that time," she said once she'd stopped chuckling, but the longer she looked at me, the faster her smile fell, "you're...not kidding?"

"Why would I...'kid'?"

She fell into a tense silence, gaze flickering from me to my mother's face, then back again. She looked uncertain whether this was all some elaborate prank or not. "No, come on...that can't be legal."

"Certainly not here, but there are ways around it in Peru. We have an aunt up there, Aunt Tsantsa, and she makes the best shrunken heads in centuries."

Sabra didn't move an inch. Then she nodded, slowly, and backed away. "Okay...well, I better get going. William will start to wonder where I am."

She took another shuffle backwards, almost running into Edgar's cage. The Raven gave a loud squawk that almost made Sabra jump out of her skin. Still, she didn't turn her back on me. Not even once. I considered trying to comfort her, but mortals never listened...and the paranoia starting to show on her face made her look even more beautiful.

"Do visit again, Anaticula," I watched the confusion cloud over her face, briefly replacing the fright. For a moment I thought she might ask what I meant, but instead she simply headed towards the door.

She reached her hand towards the doorknob, but before she could even graze her fingers across it, the door swung open of its own accord. This time Sabra really did jump out of her skin. Truly, she jumped so high that I saw her spirit leave her body then plummet back into it.

Usually I would find this rather amusing, but for some reason unbeknownst to me, I felt my chest contract. Was it guilt? Fear? Empathy? I couldn't know. Whatever it was, it made me act without thought. I held both of her shoulders in my hands to steady her, then rocked her gently upward to stop her from falling back. I hadn't even realised that I had done it until she was moving away from me again, keeping her eyes intently focused on the floor.

"I must...apologise for Larry," I forced myself to say, but really, speaking felt like such a foreign thing in that moment. I was in the world of the physical. The touch of her skin, even something as simple as her shoulders, had bewitched me. "He has been in a foul mood all day. He was only trying to frighten you."

Sabra shook her head in disbelief. "Your cousin? The dead one? Why would you say something like that?"

It was my turn to be confused. I had no idea what I had done to offend her, but she was clearly annoyed by the mention of Larry. People had such a horrible idea of death as a finality, or a time of mourning. They did not realise that it was the single most wonderful thing that could happen to a person. It unbound the soul from its mortal plain. It was freeing.

"I am dreadfully sorry if I upset you, but it is true."

Sabra didn't speak after that. She didn't stay for much longer either. In an instant she had hurried out the door, a blur of colour as she bobbed away from the castle in that hideous yellow dress.