THE POWER OF KALI

Silence fell to the gloomy funeral parlour after its owner’s departure, but the mortician’s mind was far from being silent. A part of him was surprised by his own desire to let this man linger here idly, for the risks were great and he still couldn’t tell whether the human believed he was nothing more than a troubled funeral director or not. 

But oh ! How ENTERTAINING it was to listen to that mortal’s irrational love for life ! And they call me insane … Whether it was Undertaker’s own rather traumatizing life experiences and deep-seated resentment with the order of things or simply his fascination with humans and how ridiculously, PATHETICALLY hopeful they could be; he truly could not see what was there to love about being alive for a fragile little thing. Yet he also believed one had to live their life wisely despite the circumstances, for their time here was so very limited … unlike the unfortunate grim reapers’. 

… But WISDOM was often the opposite of LOVE.

Undertaker returned with a silver tray containing two skull-shaped — apparently he was strongly against possessing anything that wasn’t macabre in some way — cups filled with what appeared to be Earl Grey, moving as quietly and stealthily as a barn owl despite his stature and the heavy, heeled boots he wore. His companion’s back was turned to him, and he seemed to be busy examining his surroundings so Undertaker had no choice but to give into the temptation of startling the unfortunate thing with a sudden, unnervingly high-pitched GIGGLE !

“OH ! I do hope you didn’t get too bored waiting for me …” he added rather innocently afterwards, putting the tray down on the unsurprisingly coffin-shaped table between their seats. “You see, I’m never alone in here. I have so many guests to keep me company … oh but they tend to be a bit too QUIET for my tastes, so it’s always delightful to have someone to talk to over a cup of tea ! God knows I get quite tired of my own voice after a while … hee hee hee !”

HE   SUCKS   IN   A   SHARP   BREATH.       right   hand   twitches   ever   so   slightly   in   reaction,    but   no   violent   swings   are   swung.    bandaged   palm   simply   lingers   as   he   turns   to   behold   the   source   of   the   noise    —   a   grinning   mortician.        undoubtedly   amused!         agni   ponders   if   shocking   him   was   the   man’s   intention.            but   resolves   to   ignore   that   suspicion.        one   should   never   assume!         what   truly   bothers   him   is    that   he   didn’t   hear   his   host   approaching.      it   is   rare   for   a   man   to   elude   agni’s   sharp   senses.      words   are   lost   on   him   for   the   briefest   moment,    but   he   bows   in   greeting   to   collect   himself.

❛  FORGIVE   ME,   MY   FRIEND!     you   surprised   me.  ❜        cordial   laughter   from   the   khansama’s   lips   soon   falls    &    he   gently   takes   the   skull   -   shaped   cup   into   eager   hands.      eyes   lower   to   examine   it   with   great   interest.      the   undertaker’s   profession   is   no   doubt   borne   of   curiosity   for   the   deceased.     with   such   blatantly   macabre   aesthetics,    he   seems   to   take   some   delight   in   death.     

❛ I   AM   HAPPY   TO   KEEP   YOU   COMPANY,   SIR.        &   i   will   never   tire   of   your   voice!    a   khansama   has   very   little   time   for   conversations   like   this,   &   my   prince   is   in   good   hands   on   this   day.     it   seems   the   gods   have   willed   for   you   &   i   to   meet!       i   am   eternally   grateful.  ❜      HIS   GAZE   TAKES   ON   A   HUE   OF   SUSPICION,     not   for   the   undertaker’s   intent,    no!      for   he   sees   a   true   friend   in   this   man.       he   is   curious   about    where   he   comes   from.             why   he   is   able   to   navigate   about   creaking   floors    like   a   ghost   without   form.         he   sips   the   tea   slowly,     sinking   into   his   seat   with   pristine   posture.    his   kind   smile   never   leaves   him.       ❛   PARDON   MY   BOLDNESS,     but   how   long   have   you   been   a   mortician?     longer   than   i   have   been   in   this   world    . . .   however,    you   do   not   look   much   older   than   myself.  ❜

Saying that he was ‘ALRIGHT’ would not suffice to describe how he was feeling … There was nothing he enjoyed more than the precious, precious gift of true laughter, even if it lasted only a few seconds and never truly helped him forget the reason why he was always so HUNGRY for joy in the first place.

Luckily for the passionate stranger, Undertaker did not see the way his cheeks changed colour for some reason, since his sight was much poorer than he let on. Oh but he certainly FELT that hand reaching out for him before it even touched him …

It was quick and unexpected, the way the mortician flinched back in alarm for he couldn’t remember the last time he was TOUCHED, and not necessarily in an affectionate or intimate way either. Even potential FOES feared him too much to lay a finger on him, and when they tried … it never ended well for them. But here he was, this … this foolish MORTAL, making an attempt at cleaning him without an ounce of disgust or fear ! Silver bangs had parted for a split second because of his sharp movement, revealing a single, widened, phosphorescent orb before it was hidden once again.

Hoping the man didn’t get to see a thing, Undertaker put on a wide grin and allowed him to continue, starting to feel just as intrigued and FASCINATED with the other as he was with him …

He looked down at the bandaged hand that was extended for him to take, studying it silently for a moment before placing his own deathly pale and claw-like hand in the other’s as if he actually needed another’s help to rise.

“’The truth’ can also be amusing at times m’dear, and it being true to you doesn’t make it everybody else’s truth … Now go on and enjoy your biscuit, I shall go make some tea before you decide I’m such a ghastly host ! But do forgive me my friend, after all, my regular guests here do not really require such things …” He explained while gesturing at the coffins around, yet another giggle leaving his perpetually smiling lips as he made his way to the back of the parlour through a narrow corridor.

He couldn’t let this man leave just yet !

A   PANG   OF   GUILT   RESONATES   WHEN   HIS   HOST   DRAWS   BACK.       the   undertaker’s   features   twisting   in   what   seems   to   be   discomfort.            agni   had   been   foolish   not   to   ask   before   braving   to   clean   that   pale   mouth.       FOR   A   KHANSAMA   NEVER   OVERSTEPS   HIS   BOUNDS!      but   then,     he   catches   a   brief   glimpse   of   radiant   green   glowing   beneath   white   bangs.       beautiful.      but   unnatural.      captivating.      but   strange.        just   when   he   thought   he’d   begun   to   unravel   some   of   the   mystery   surrounding   this   mortician   . . .   something   infinitely   more   curious   comes   up. the   feeling   of   remorse   is   short   -  lived   however,      as   the   startled   undertaker   soon   allows   himself   to   relax   against   the   cloth.    those   bright   eyes   retreat   back   under   a   snow   -   white   veil   &   agni   makes   no   mention   of   them,       for   now.    he   simply   carries   on.       BONY   HAND   RESTS   UPON   BANDAGES    &   agni   gently   eases   the   mortician   from   the   floor.    all   this   talk   about   being   an   old   man   drove   the   butler   to   believe   some   extra   assistance   may   be   needed.             ( but   those   eyes   are   young. )            he   can’t   seem   to   get   their   unique   pigment   out   of   his   mind.      ❛  ah,   very   interesting,   sir!     the   truth   can   be   subjective,   yes.      but   beauty   remains,   whether   you   choose   to   see   it   or   not.  ❜     a   smile   is   returned,   that   which   rarely   leaves  his   lips.     hands   clasp   together   in   reverence   &   his   body   bends   forward   at   the   waist   in   a   bow.