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Old Lives (13) - Tombstones, carved out of an assortment of different materials, are aplenty in the Hawkins’ Cemetery. Some look more professional than others, but these were all clearly hand carved. Some graves have no name, only a blank slab, but more often than not each is marked with a name and date. The handwriting and skill differs and it doesn’t seem like there’s much consistency in who was doing the work down here. The interesting part is that some of the graves have years that predate Destiny City’s establishment, and none of the names on the graves can be found in any registrar or census. Right now, there’s no telling who these people were–or how they came to be buried here. For any history buff, this might be both odd and exciting, but for the average person? They might just leave feeling like there’s a sentence at the tip of their tongue, like there’s a memory just out of reach. They may dream of people they never knew, and conversations they were almost a part of. None of it makes sense; it’s impossible to make out any detail or understand any word, but there is always a desperate distress and a pleading cry. It’s an odd sensation–probably just fueled by your imagination, right? And yet, it’s difficult to chase the questions out of your mind.
Asuka's strange new raven friend remained, fluttering his wings and regarding her from his position on the tombstone he'd chosen as his perch. And what was a girl to do, really, but follow the strange, chatty, friendly magical bird to the grave he'd settled on and take a look? So she walked over, and as she walked, she flashed her flashlight over the other tombstones.
It was strange, honestly. she'd been in plenty of cemeteries in her time--old, new, and everything in between--and this one felt particularly off. The writing on so many of the tombstones--even ones from dates quite close together--was so different. The quality of carving. The materials. There was no consistency, no indication that one or even a few hands, as was her expectation, had handled these graves.
"What is this palce?" Her voice was soft, tremulous.
There was something deeply strange about this graveyard.
Her eyes drifted to Raven-san, as if he might give her an answer to her question. His head was tilted, eyes entirely focused on her, that glimmer of strange intelligence drawing her in.
Raven-san did not have answers for her.
"Come and see," he cawed.
She came, and she knelt before the tombstone he had chosen, and she saw.
The epitaph was faded, but it was recognizable; she'd seen other old tombstones like this. That wasn't what held her eyes.
Here lyes ye bodye of Sarah Sedgewicke
Wife of Jonathan
Mother of Isobel and Francis
Born August ye 1st 1563
Died January ye 5th 1589
"What," her voice was soft, and she ran her fingers over the dates carved there. "But that isn't..."
Far, far too old for anything in this city. Almost too old for anything in America.
There was something so very, very strange about this place. Something liminal, and bizarre. This was a place that should not be, with graves that could not exist.
And yet here they were, and as Asuka's fingers gently traced the words on the tombstone, as she shifted from kneeling to sitting, she felt something in her chest. A heavy, burdensome weight, and a feeling that there was something right on the tip of her tongue--words she was desperate to say, someone she was desperate to get the attention of.
A memory of a gentle touch, a whispered voice, a flicker of a place that she knew she could not have been, the swish of fabrics she had never worn and the weight of a child in her arms, sobbing and being soothed to sleep by a lullaby she did not know the words to.
At its core, a plea. A cry of pain, of loneliness, of need. A knife in Asuka's chest that made her feel as if she was bearing the weight of centuries of loneliness, of abandonment.
"How long have you been forgotten down here?" She asked the grave, softly. Then-- "May I sit with you for a while, Sarah?"
Perhaps the ghost was here. Perhaps Mrs. Sarah Sedgewicke, dead at age 25 of no stated cause, needed a friend to remember her name. Perhaps this wasn't real at all, but it didn't matter.
Raven-san hopped back onto her shoulder and began preening her hair again.
That, it seemed, was answer enough.
[wc: 541 words]
