Work Text:
Slow and unfeeling, the ceremony dragged on. The unexpected death of Mr. Edelstein, a businessman who prided himself on a lack of political influence and an excess of money, was a minor, but still notable event, and his funeral was well attended by his bored colleagues.
Still and silent, Roderich Edelstein stood near his father’s grave, surrounded by men he barely knew, and wondered what to feel.
Callous and filled with false sympathy, his father’s old business partners gave him their condolences, and demanded, in vague and veiled language, what his plans were for the future of his father’s legacy. Many gave him advice, pretending to be offered in kindness, but really tailored to take advantage of his youth and naivety for their own ends. Roderich busied himself with giving polite nonanswers, and yearned to escape.
Tired and lost, he at last returned to his silent home, and played his piano late into the night in search of the emotions he could not find within himself. His father’s death felt distant and unreal, and Roderich could not tell if he mourned him, could not decide if he was glad he was dead or sad, or what. If it was wrong to feel nothing at all. In the end he went to bed without answers.
On his pillow he found a folded piece of paper.
Confused and curious, he opened it, and read the words written neatly, though childishly on its face. “I’m sorry for your loss,” it said. Simple words, and trite, but they meant so much more than all the flowery condolences he had received put together.
The note was in his avox’s handwriting. The little avox whom his father had beaten and belittled and worked unpityingly. For the first time since his father’s death, Roderich cried, not for his father exactly, but simply because for the first time in this time of vulnerability, a time that ought to be filled with great sadness, someone had reached out to him with genuine kindness.
Bright and cheerful, the morning dawned, and Roderich woke to find that the avox had made his favorite breakfast.
“Thank you,” Roderich said, and the avox smiled at him happily.
“Take the day off,” he added, “I’ve finished the piece I was working on if you want to come listen.”
So Roderich played, and the avox sat on the floor and drew with colored pencils he’d found from somewhere and listened. Later, Roderich would have to put his father’s affairs in order, would have to take the place he had never wanted as his father’s heir, but for now, they were free.