Work Text:
Every year, when the veil grows thinnest between worlds, the ministry throws a lavish celebration to honor those who came before. This year is no different.
Hundreds upon hundreds of candles and string lights adorn the halls, music drifts softly from the catacombs through the Abbey halls- a party that very much belongs to the living just as much as the departed.
You are working extremely hard to help plan and set everything up to make this night perfection. Laughing and joking with the ghouls as they help decorate the grand ballroom in beautiful autumn colored decor.
But when the clock strikes midnight, the temperature dips drastically. A familiar cologne and the sound of distant, faint laughter rolls through the room. A cold breeze blows, rustling the linens all over the room.
Then- there he is.
Papa Terzo. Spectral, shimmering around the edges, wearing that same suit he is always known for. A huge grin is plastered across his face.
“Amore, you didn’t think I’d miss my own party, did you?”
At first, everything is absolute chaos. Spectral ghouls, long departed previous Papas, even departed ministry pets- begin phasing through walls and closed doors. Instruments are playing themselves and lights are flickering in matching rhythm and tempo. A concoction from both the living and the beyond.
Terzo, still the ever gracious host, is moving about the room mingling and charming everyone as if nothing has changed.
He flirts, jokes, and even spins you through a dance- even though his touch is cold and softer than incense smoke. “Just for tonight..” he grins ear to ear “the band is back together, yeah?”
Throughout the night the living and departed are mingling. Primo and Secondo toast together; Nihil plays his glittery saxophone stunningly; you dance, smile and laugh until your cheeks ache- a different hurt burning in your heart knowing this cannot last.
Finally, as dawn nears, the air begins to grow still again. The music fades and apparitions begin to flicker away returning to where they once came from. Terzo lingers the longest out of them all, brushing phantom fingers along your cheek. It feels comforting.
“Don’t be sad, Tesoro Mio. Whenever you hear the music, that is me. Still dancing, fully alive somewhere between the beats.”
You close your eyes, leaning into his fingers.
“I am always with you, la mia dolce metà.”
And then, he’s gone. Leaving behind the scent of his cologne- and a piece of silver sequin on the floor from his suit jacket- that refuses to fade away. Picking it up, you place it in your palm and hold it against your heart with a soft sigh. This truly is the most special time of year.