Autumn Lord

One day, she decided that sadness suited her. She was at the age when you needed more than a navel-length cleavage to attract attention. So she chose a rather unusual hobby to fill the time she now had in abundance. It was a shame no one was buying her free time; not only would she earn money, but she could also help someone… But she couldn't do that. Instead, she masked her face with boundless sadness and began attending all the funerals in town. There weren't many, so she had the opportunity to cause a bit of a stir at each ceremony. Eventually, however, people grew accustomed to her presence. At first, it was whispered about, then spoken about loudly with mocking smiles, but eventually, they dismissed it as the eccentricities of other townspeople and got used to it.

Another funeral. As usual, she stood to the side, on a hill, under a bare tree. Above her, a gray sky, beneath her, a sea of ​​graves flickering with faint candlelight, and a handful of people grieving. She felt good; she was slowly getting used to this place and was beginning to dream of her own funeral. She had had a plot booked for years. She knew she would be buried with her husband, but that particular idea didn't appeal to her; there were so many more charming corners in this old cemetery. She stood dreamily, observing the world from behind her black veil. She thought she looked good, slightly old-fashioned, yet elegant. The hat shadowing her face, her eyes hidden by lace, the black cloak covering her to the floor, and the gloves… yes, the gloves were an inseparable element of her attire. And then there was the white lily. She loved these flowers, for their innocence, their soaring beauty, their delicacy and coolness…

She stood there, still and full of sorrow, listening to the priest's monotonous voice and the woman's wailing… She could smell winter, stinging her nose. She gazed at the rusty grass and graves with artificial flowers, crooked crosses, statues of Virgin Marys and armless angels with bruised noses. She felt tired. She began to wonder if she, too, would soon lie down in a hard coffin and sleep under a blanket of earth… Suddenly, a tiny detail caught her eye. Opposite, on another hill, under another tree, stood a man. Like her, he was watching the funeral, but he didn't look like a relative. He didn't approach the fresh grave, he didn't cry… He just stood and watched. When the funeral was over, she went down to the valley and placed her lily on a pile of rustling bouquets. She turned to see what the man was doing, but he was already gone…

Autumn was long that year… and there were more funerals than usual. The woman prepared more and more carefully for another farewell, growing more and more accustomed to the thought of meeting her silent, mysterious companion again. Like her, he appeared at all the funerals. She was surprised that people hadn't already begun to whisper. No one asked about him. Even though they hadn't exchanged a single word, it was clear that if they met regularly in the same place, there must be something between them. This slowly began to unnerve her. Until one day, she decided to make the first move. After the funeral, instead of placing the traditional lily on the fresh grave, she began to climb up the hill. When she reached it and looked up, she found herself standing alone, the leafless branches of the chestnut tree mocking her with a soft creaking. She was about to leave when she felt a presence behind her. A shiver ran through her, and not because of the frosty wind ruffling the yellow leaves at her feet. She was speechless. He stood before her. The man struck her as very handsome. An elderly man in a hat, long coat, and leather gloves. He looked at her so sadly. She forgot that she had been angry with him for a moment. She wanted to introduce herself, but instead she stroked his sleeve. He nodded, sighed, and turned away. He walked slowly away.

At the next funeral, they stood together. After another, he took her hand. The glove was hard and cold, but she liked the touch. She felt safe and burst with pride. As if an angel were watching over her. Nothing bad could happen to her. They started dating. Always under autumn skies shrouded in winter clouds, surrounded by bare trees, they walked along royal walkways of rustling leaves. The man was very shy and spoke little. He looked deeply into her eyes and held her hand. That was enough for her; she couldn't explain it, but she felt in love. Until a certain point. They were walking, as usual, along a cemetery path lined with birch trees when they suddenly stopped in front of a very old grave. The man stopped and looked surprised. He rubbed his forehead and walked purposefully away. The woman didn't know what had happened. She thought he felt bad, but she didn't ask. She simply stopped him and, seeing the fear in his eyes, hugged him. She remembered all the fears that had tormented her before his appearance. Those fears that kept her awake, the piercing loneliness, the searing awareness that no one was waiting for her anymore, no one missed her. A tear lingered on her eyelid. The man smiled and gently ran his finger across her lashes. A small teardrop glistened on his glove, only to vanish without a trace a moment later.

The woman was blossoming, and the man was retreating further and further from her. He acted as if he had suddenly understood something. There was less and less of him. His touch was less distinct, his face paler and paler, his lips increasingly bluish… His unseeing gaze, directed somewhere above the woman's head… it worried her. One day… As she rushed to meet her, a funeral procession blocked the way. She tried to avoid it and headed toward the birch alley. Suddenly, her gaze wandered to a gravestone; all the others were perfectly covered with leaves, but this one, swept by the wind, exposed its bare stone slab to the cold… A medallion gleamed on the stone. The woman realized with dread that the picture was familiar… She rubbed her eyes again and again, trying to read the date, blurred by time and covered with moss… She couldn't. With a pounding heart, she jumped up and ran toward the agreed-upon meeting place. But he was nowhere to be found. It grew cold, and snow began to fall. The first flakes gently landed on her coat. The world was enveloped in a snowy mist… Then she saw a man standing on the other hill. He stood, looking at her. An upright silhouette behind a curtain of snowflakes. The man waved at her, turned, and disappeared…