Chapter Text
"Uncle Mortis, when will I get better?" The girl before him asked. Her once lively voice was tarnished to a croak. The room remained dimly lit by candles to prevent the nausea that is prevalent with this disease. The window in her room was left open.
Mortis laid in a chair at the girl's bedside, frowning as the question was asked. In truth, of it all, he did not know what to say.
So he said nothing at all, the only sound in the room being wheezes from her. With other families, it was easy to detach oneself from the death that occurred - because it was not his family. Advice and reassurance that once flooded through his lips whisked away upon seeing his niece in such a state.
In all else, she was all he had left. Once she passes on, he will be alone in this world. What will he do then? Before he could even think, her voice poked him out of his thoughts.
"Will I ever get better?" At the last part of the sentence, her croak got louder. He knows the truth; all the treatments -- the quarantine, the disinfectants remained ineffective towards her illness. She would not get better. A breeze came through the window, and the girl moved a bit.
What children don't know can't hurt them. "Yes." he said with as much warmth as he could push, moving his hand to grasp hers. With as much difficulty as she could muster, she gave him a small smile. Her whole arm was covered in rashes. Physicians would advise against touching her lest he get the Scarlet Fever, but he did not care. They're all meant to die someday.
He took a peak to the girl, and her eyes started to close. "Goodnight..Uncle Mor..tis." Her black hair shined through the moon's gleam, and something in him knew that was her passing. Like watching a runt in a litter slowly lose its breath, he knew.
It was strange admist it all. He still remembered when she was just born, his sister excitedly inviting him over to see her walk. Many dared not to bring an undertaker into their homes in case their children become his future clients, but his sister still did such against her friends' advice. Now, he had seen the life and death of the girl.
She looked peaceful once more on the bed. In his rational thoughts, he knows he'll have her buried. He could dig a grave next to her mother, and the family would be reunited once more.
Later in the night, when his thoughts are away from the shock of it all, he will go into her closet and find that one dress she loved to wear.