The Bookmark: Posthumous Publication

Grey passed me off to the maid without uttering a single word, his focus already on Sushila. In one fluid motion, he swept her into his arms, cradling her in a bridal hold. His voice was low, almost regretful, as he spoke.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner."

Sushila, her face pale and tear-streaked, reached for him, her fingers trembling. "It's... it's okay," she whispered, her voice cracking. "As long as our son is safe..."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken fear, but Grey's expression darkened. A fleeting frown tugged at his lips, his gaze flickering to the side, like a man carrying a burden too painful to reveal.

We disembarked from the carriage, our hearts heavy with the weight of the battle that had just occured. The butler, steadfast in his duties, gently placed the bodies of our fallen knights and Ruby the maid into the carriage, their lifeless forms a stark reminder of the price of our survival. The traitors, whose treachery had led to this carnage, were unceremoniously dragged into the depths of the woods, their presence a stain on the land.

With solemn reverence, the butler gathered the weapons of our fallen heroes, each blade a testament to their bravery. He plunged them into the ground, one by one, as if to mark the earth with their sacrifice.

Sushila turned to the butler with a quiet urgency. "Reginald, could you be so kind as to pass me Ruby's dagger?" And the butler, did so, without so much as a glance or a word.

The knight's swords seemed to be devoured by the soil itself, leaving only the hilt exposed, a silent tribute to their valor.

In a final act of respect, he set the carriage ablaze. The flames rose, consuming the remnants of our protectors' last stand. We could not bear to bring them back with us, but we honored their memory with fire, a beacon of their unwavering loyalty and courage.

Back on Earth, this would simply be called cremation. If it were as simple as this, I'd probably opt for it myself, no hassle, no burden on Grandma's pockets. But in that world, nothing comes free. Everything has its price, and that includes even the most basic of rituals

We watched in silence until the carriage had been reduced to ash, the flames licking greedily at the remnants of wood and metal. When the fire had consumed all, there was nothing left of them, nothing but their cold, metallic weapons.

Without a word, we moved to another carriage, as grand as the one that had burned. The bodies of the traitors, discarded like refuse, lay in the woods, left to be claimed by the dark creatures that prowled there. Even the horses, slain in their service, had been given a more fitting end, burned with a respect the traitors would never know.

Before I realized it, the horses had pulled the carriage to a place so magnificent that it rendered the president's residence back home little more than a mere trinket in comparison.

The estate before me resembled something out of a fairytale, an imposing castle surrounded by shimmering fountains with statues, the landscape unfolding in a sweeping panorama of opulence.

Sushila, her smile strained as if unwillingly crafted, gently steadied me, her hand gripping mine with a touch that felt both distant and familiar. "Arthur, we're home," she said, her voice trembling ever so slightly as she spoke the words, though whether it was from exhaustion or something more, I couldn't tell.

We got out of the carriage, maids and buttlers standing just outside of the big entrance were standing bowing, "We greet the lord, the madam and young master". they all said in perfect sync.

As soon as we entered the house, there were three women, each radiating a unique beauty, their elegance manifesting not just in their appearance but in the way they moved graceful, composed, as though they carried the weight of timeless sophistication. They were none other than the patriarch's 3 wives and among them was the one who had sent those people to kill Sushila and Arthur. The women bowed down a sign of greeting, then, it happened, with Sushila still cradled effortlessly in his arms, a frown darkened his features, and an aura of palpable menace emanated from him, the sheer intensity of it nearly suffocating the air. His bloodlust surged, sharp and focused, sinking into the room like a heavy weight. The maids and butlers, already trembling in the wake of his presence, felt a cold grip of terror clutch at their hearts. Yet, it was the women who felt the true bite of his wrath, each of them bowing under the weight of his gaze, their knees betraying them as they sank to the ground in trembling silence. Cold sweat beaded on their brows, and they knew, without a single word uttered, that one of them had angered the patriarch.

Without a glance back, he strode past them, his focus unbroken, his steps measured and deliberate. In his arms, Sushila was motionless, her ability to walk stripped away by the events that had occured earlier. He carried her with an almost detached grace, guiding her toward the stairs, towards the solitude of her bedroom.

The maid followed behind them, carrying me in her arms. "I'll be sleeping with my son tonight," said Sushila. The maid gave a quiet nod before handing me over to Sushila.

"Zora, you belong to Sushila now," Grey's voice boomed, thick with authority. "You will live or die at her will."

Sushila broke the tense silence, her tone light, almost too casual. "Grey, why would you say such a thing? He's just joking. Don't let it trouble you, Zora." Her eyes flicked briefly to Grey, frowning.

"Am I?" He asked, as if the idea hadn't quite occured to him.

Sushila's face tightened, her composure never slipping. "Go to your room," she commanded him, her voice leaving no room for argument. Grey, without a word, turned and left, his back as stiff as his pride.

Despite the unspoken words, their bond was palpable. The depth of his love for his wife was evident in every subtle gesture.

"Zora, I realize you've been on duty and likely need rest, and I understand you've just been assigned to me, but could you please reach out to Raina for me? I apologize for troubling you," Sushila said, her voice laced with both exhaustion and a trace of regret.

The maid bowed silently and exited the room, returning moments later with a young girl, no older than ten. Her eyes were veiled, as though she were blind, yet there was no mistaking the sharp awareness with which she navigated the room. Clad in a maid's uniform, she seemed to be in training, still learning the ropes of her role.

"I, Raina, greet madam, fourth," the girl said softly, offering a graceful bow.

"Zora, could you please hold Arthur for a moment?" she asked, her voice fragile. She attempted to rise, but her legs betrayed her, and she collapsed onto the floor. Weak and trembling, she crawled toward the little girl, her body aching with every movement.

Zora and the girl inched closer, but she raised a hand, signaling them to stay back. Slowly, painfully, she crawled to the girl's feet, her tears falling like raindrops onto the girl's shoes. It was as if she was bowing, not in reverence, but in sorrow, clutching Ruby's bloodied dagger as though it were a relic of her failure.

"I'm so sorry, Raina," she whispered, her voice trembling with grief. "Your mother couldn't make it back...Ruby...Ruby died protecting me and Arthur. I'm so sorry."

The girl took her mother's dagger with practiced grace. "Please, rise, madam. You needn't bow to someone like me," she said, her voice steady, devoid of hesitation as she gently guided her back into bed. Her expression was as blank as the others, stoic, emotionless, like the countless maids who served House Wolfhard.

The little girl hesitated for a moment, then spoke with a quiet resolve. "May I ask two favors?"

Sushila looked at her with soft eyes and nodded. "Of course, dear."

The girl lowered her gaze. "I know I am of little use, for I cannot see with either of my eyes, the sickness that stole my sight long ago and I am aware that the young master's maid has yet to be chosen, that only the worthy may serve him. But...may I have the honor of serving him?"

With a fragile smile, Sushila's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "I would be honored if you could become my son's personal maid," she murmured, her voice quivering.

The little girl then turned to Zora, her voice full of quiet determination. "I know this might be asking too much, but...could you help me grow stronger? So I can protect the young master, Head Maid?"

Zora gave a grim nod. "Prepare yourself to work until you break. When I'm done with you, you'll wish you'd never asked."

The girl bowed, her movements slow and deliberate, before stepping out. Through the door, her quiet sobs echoed in the stillness, a soft lament that only deepened Sushila's grief.

"She's stronger than most," Zora murmured, her gaze distant. "She held her composure, even after learning about her mother's death, waiting until the last word was spoken before letting her heart crack."

It was a scene meant to wrench the reader's heart, to pull them into the raw ache of the moment. But now, as I look back on it, I can't help but feel a strange sense of detachment. What was once an attempt at emotional depth now seems flat, almost contrived. If I could rewrite it, breathe new life into those words, I would. But the chance has passed, and all that's left is the weight of regret.