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"You know, Mr. Carl, I've never been afraid of death. But this," she took the shriveled hand of the corpse the embalmer was processing so gently as if the frail old woman still lived and were in need of some comfort. "This is terrifying."
Aesop didn't look up from his work. This was a delicate process, after all and he was quite used to Ms. Sommers spontaneous rambling as she handed him his tools. "I fail to see how this body is different from any of the others you've been in contact with since the beginning of our partnership," he said, his voice low and smooth as always.
"Oh but she is, Mr. Carl. She's our oldest client so far at the mature age of 51," she said, looking down at her visage with exceptional pity.
Aesop hummed in acknowledgment at her observation as he carefully removed the heart and placed it on the scale. "Yes, I suppose she is," he said. He had been aware of the fact but hadn't thought much of it until this point. Such a shame it was to deteriorate as your body struggled against it. It was so much better to die young and in your prime and to be remembered that way forever.
"If it is aging you fear, Ms. Sommers, I have tissue fillers there on that tray that can preserve your beauty for the rest of your days and far after you pass, should we inject you regularly," he offered, nodding to the syringe next to the one containing formaldehyde.
Sylvie blushed. He had called her beautiful. She knew it was merely a descriptor the way he meant it, but still it was nice that he saw her as a woman and not just an apprentice. But that was neither here nor there.
She smiled and shook her head at his considerate suggestion. "No, but thank you. I'm not so vain as to fear a few wrinkles and gray hairs. It's the decaying of the mind that keeps me up at night. It's an inevitable thing as the rest of the body wastes away with it. You lose your ability to care for yourself and you forget even the dearest people to your heart. You slowly separate from all that makes you, you. Living like that is no more than a waking death. A short life is a mercy compared to such a hell."
She closed her eyes against the image of her father lying in his sick bed, eyes glazed and unable to speak though he still breathed as if he had been lobotomized. Those days of watching him fade were the most painful she had experienced in life. She wouldn't wish it on anyone else.
Aesop did look up at his assistant now, locking eyes with her. It was as if she had gone into his mind and pulled his thoughts from his head, then spoke them aloud.
"My sentiment exactly, Ms. Sommers. I must say that I am relieved to hear that we share the same mind on the subject. That is precisely why I do what I do, providing a peaceful way out for those tired of a burdensome life. I shall be glad to render the same services to you when the time comes, but until then, I intend to make use of you for as long as time allows."
He maintained eye contact for a moment more before turning his steel gaze back to the body on the table.
Sylvie hadn't realized that she had been holding her breath the entire time he held her gaze until he looked away again. It was a rare thing for him to make eye contact, but when he did, it was deep and intense as if he could see into her very soul. It always made her feel as if she were being held captive.
The words he spoke to her sent warmth spreading through her chest. He was so kind and thoughtful and she felt so blessed that he treasured her presence enough to keep her with him until she could serve him no longer. And when that time came, his face would be the last thing she ever saw. She couldn't think of a more romantic way to die.
"Thank you," she said, her voice rich with admiration.
Aesop didn't seem to hear her as he spoke next. "Bring me the tissue filler."
"Yes, right away, Mr. Carl," she said, beaming as she eagerly went to his side.