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The departure of an infernal courier left a faint scent of sulfur to linger in the outer parlor of the House of Grief. Mirie slumped on her stool, her narrow chin rooted on the surface of her desk, her slender arms dangling like the foliage of a thirsty houseplant. Even the elf's long, angular ears seemed to droop as she contemplated the delivery, sitting on the table across the room, a stout jar of sickly green fluid, in which floated the corpse of a pale worm. It had about the size and the appeal of a severed thumb. Really don’t want to know what the Mother Superior is doing with these disgusting specimens.
Mirie sighed as she summoned the effort to raise her right hand and open the ledger on the desk next to her face. She mumbled the words to a simple cantrip, pulling ink from a nearby pot to inscribe in the ledger.
TUESDAY, 5TH. ONE JAR. WITH WORM.
Mirie had not noticed the slip of paper tucked into the ledger, until her finger grazed its edge at just the right angle to slice her skin. Mirie sighed again and put her finger in her mouth. Then, taking a look at the offending paper, she jolted upright at the message written there.
SHADOWHEART IS BACK. ELFSONG TAVERN.
How long since Shadowheart left? Two months, at least. Too long. Mirie quickened to put the worm jar away, and then caught herself humming as she went about her daily chores. Almost done, then straight to the Elfsong. She’s likely to be there around supper time.
Mirie was just about finished with her tasks, when the Mother Superior appeared in the parlor, saying, “Clean the dry goods store before you leave. It’ll be your head if I see another rat down there.” Mirie slumped. Well, maybe I can make it to the tavern before bed.
It was almost midnight, and the Elfsong was crowded and lively. Mirie found a perch at the bar, next to a tall, muscular tiefling woman. At last, Mirie caught the eyes of a half-elf entering the room. It was Shadowheart, now approaching with wide arms and a smile. Mirie’s heart leapt, but just as she stood up, the half-elf bumped past her and embraced the tiefling instead.
Mirie stood in shock and embarrassment as those two exchanged friendly chatter and headed up the nearby stairs, never casting a second glance in her direction. She slumped back on her seat. Of course she doesn’t remember me. Why would she? She’s the favorite and I’m just plain boring Mirie, easily forgotten. They would put that on my tombstone, except no one would even notice I was dead.
Mirie’s ruminations were interrupted by a thud on the bar, as the bartender said to her, “I know a shitty day when I see it. This one’s on the house.” Mirie downed the spirits without a word. After a few more shitty-day drinks, her cheeks and ear tips had taken on a ruby blush.
The tiefling returned to the bar, alone, then reclaimed her seat and ordered a mug of beer.
Holding herself upright with an arm on the bar, Mirie glowered at her.
“The name’s Karlach,” said the tiefling, raising her mug.
“Shadowheart’s friend.”
“Yeah. Do ya know her? I can—”
Mirie leaned forward and poked Karlach in the shoulder. “You tell that slut that I don’t remember your ugly face, either.”
“My ugly face? What?”
“No! Your tell her ugly face—“ Mirie tried to poke Karlach again, but she over-indexed the movement, and losing hold of the bar, she fell forward off her stool. She flailed, knocking a tray of drinks out of the hands of a passing server, then hit the floor, banging her chin on the stone. Next to her, the drinking glasses shattered, and the whole tavern turned silent, until a dwarf yelled “wooo!” from across the room and started to clap. The tavern erupted in merriment again.
“Oookay, you’ve had quite enough,” Karlach said, lifting the much smaller woman to her feet. Mirie responded by biting Karlach’s arm.
“What the frick!” Karlach grabbed Mirie by the hair and dragged her to the tavern door, tossing her out into the street. “Go home and sober up, before you piss off the wrong person!”
The next day, Mirie did not eat or drink, leaving her bed only long enough to clean the snot from her handkerchief and ready it for more tears. The following day, she managed to pull herself together enough to have a warm meal.
On the third day, Mirie was back at the House of Grief, stooping with her forehead pressed on the desk. Someone came in. She didn’t bother to raise her head, just flipping the ledger to the next page. “Welcome to the House of Grief,” Mirie mumbled at her navel. “I sense a profound loneliness in you. The Unburdening can ease such woes.”
“Have some dignity, girl,” said the Mother Superior. “It is you who most needs to be unburdened this day. Lock up, then descend.” A soft hum of magic announced the departure of the Mother Superior’s astral projection. Mirie pulled herself to her feet and set about locking the doors and drawers in the outer parlor, then headed into the cloister and down to where the Mother Superior was waiting. Mirie knew the coming ritual well. She will stand me at the Mirror of Loss, and I will surrender all memories of Shadowheart. At least I won’t feel so alone.