A Music Box of Memories
It was a crumbling house, forlorn and forgotten amidst the crinkling brown fallen leaves. The autumn wind blew by, rustling the long blades of dried grass in the overgrown garden.
Forty years was a long time.
The sage stood before the house, on the walkway to the porch. The wind blew at her light green hair gently, tugging at the strands, the only spot of colour amongst the sea of browns and greys. Leaves crumbled to pieces under her feet.
Forty years ago, this house had been a rainbow of colours. She remembered how he had painstakingly painted every single object of this house so as she create a bright and cheery feel in an effort to make her happy.
The fence had been a pleasant cream, unobtrusive and comfortable. The outside of the house had been white, clean and gleaming. The porch she had chosen for it to be faint yellow, welcoming and soothing. The door he had quietly painted it brown, sturdy and solid. The garden was a myriad of colours, like an artist's palette. There was green from the carpet of lawn, red from the climbing roses, white from the billowing lilies, purple from the tufts of lavenders, yellow from the blooms of buttercups, blue from her favourite forget-me-nots and indigo from the fragile irises.
Now, everything was either an unpalatable shade of brown or a dull hue of grey.
She sighed heavily, stuffing her hands, numbed from the cold, into the pockets of her cloak. With a trembling hand, she drew out a cold metal key from one of the pockets.
Was the door still locked?
She recalled how she had locked the door forty years ago, one hand holding a crying Lugh against her. Ray was sitting solemnly behind her, watching her lock the door with widened eyes, his teddy bear forgotten on the porch.
Hands shaking, she inserted the key into the lock and turned. The door opened soundlessly, swinging on its hinges with the faintest of creaks. She coughed from the musty smell that perfumed the air in the house.
The living room was untouched. Over forty years, nothing had been touched. The chairs, tables and furniture were coated with a thick layer of dust. The books still lay on the shelf where she had left them, their gold lettering on their spines faded. The carpet covering the floor was more dust than fabric, and the design had been washed out by time, replaced by a dull sandy brown.
She closed her eyes.
Lugh and Ray tumbled around the carpet, giggling, thumbs still in mouth, a expectant look in their eyes.
Jaffar almost had a soft look on his face as he gently rolled his giggling twin sons on their backs, tickling them softly in their abdomens.
"Pwesents!" Lugh and Ray yelled simultaneously as she walked into the living room, balancing a pile of wrapped up boxes in her hands.
"Hey! Hey! Wait, boys!" She laughed as they pounced towards her, gripping onto her legs. "Let mummy sit down first!"
Placing the boxes down on the ground, she smiled as her twin boys grabbed whichever present had their names on it and tore open the wrapping paper. The next few moments were filled with delighted shouts of glee and joy as the twins unwrapped new books, toys and clothes.
"Jaffar…" She said softly, peering up shyly at him.
He turned from where he had been watching his sons and sat facing her, a sign that she had his fullest attention.
"I…" She held out a neatly wrapped package.
Expressionless as usual, Jaffar curiously opened the package and held up the piece of fabric.
She bit her lip. Would he like it? She had been secretly sewing the cape for him to replace his old one, which still had no matter how hard she washed it. She had never been very skilled with a needle…maybe she should have followed her first idea and given him a new dagger or something…
The corners of Jaffar's mouth twitched. Leaning in, he kissed her lightly on her forehead.
"Thank you." His whisper was nearly inaudible.
She smiled.
Cautiously, she walked into the kitchen.
The granite tabletop was covered by a thick layer of dust. The wooden cupboards were beginning to show signs of rotting. The food that she had left in the shelves had long since disintegrated into dust. The charcoal in the stove was thick with grime and the stone stove itself was crumbling.
A musty smell hung in the air.
"Jaffar?" She padded softly through the house, barefooted. Walking with an enormous stomach was a little difficult, but she managed.
"Nope, bedroom checked. Living room checked. Bathroom checked. Where could he be?" She muttered under her breath, one hand propping her waist. "Wait, don't tell me…"
Sure enough, odd noises were coming from the kitchen.
"That's a little loud for a mouse…" she frowned suspiciously. "Jaffar!"
She looked incredulously at her husband, who had donned her floral apron and a white chef's hat. "Wh-what are you doing?" She lifted a hand to cover mouth as she tried not to laugh.
Jaffar stopped , ladle in the air in one hand, bottle of oil in the other. "I'm cooking…for you…"
"Aww…"She felt her eyes tearing up. "You're so sweet, Jaffar!" She moved and hugged him, shifting her bulging abdomen so that it fit in her embrace. Who would have known that former assassin of the Black Fang, the feared Angel f Death, would cook for his pregnant wife?
"You…should be resting in bed…" He wrapped her in his embrace. "Wait…try this…" Taking a wooden spoon, he scooped a spoonful of the soup and blew gently on it to cool it. "Careful, it's hot…" He lifted the spoon to her lips. "Is it good?"
She swallowed thoughtfully and looked at him. To think, that he, usually so calm and steady, would be nervous about the taste of his cooking! "It's great!" She smiled. "You're a good cook, Jaffar!"
Shrugging, he patted her abdomen and picked up the ladle again, adding a pinch of basil to the soup.
Were the bedrooms touched?
She wandered curiously down the corridors into the familiar bedroom they had once shared.
The door swung noisily on its rusted hinges, but it opened. The bedside table was untouched, and her scarce vanity items were still untouched. Her ivory comb was unbroken, the powder box still gleamed, the mirror still retained its original luster, but the gilded frame was faded.
The sheets, once silky and cream, had turned yellow and wrinkled. The mattress creaked with the sound of old age. The four-poster bedstand, made of wood, still retained its original glory, but the paint was falling and chipped in many places. The down from the pillows had spilled onto the bed, covering the carpeted floor and the sheets with yellowing feathers, still soft to the touch.
Gently, she sat down on the side of the bed and stroked a feather lightly. Beneath the heavy and suffocating smell of dust and age, she could still smell him – the smooth masculine scent that she found so comforting.
Both of them were sitting at the edge of the bed, facing each other.
"Jaffar?" She asked uncertainly. She had never seen him look so solemn ever since they married.
From one of the pockets of his trousers, he took out a small box. A small red velvet box with gold edges.
She could already guess what was inside. She had heard about these from her friends, such as Rebecca, who told her that Wil proposed to her with a gold ring in a red velvet box.
She blushed. "Jaffar…you shouldn't have…" Opening it, she gasped at the unexpected surprise inside.
It was a locket, a simple heart-shaped gold locket with little detail. Opening it, she saw a small picture of their family, she in the middle, Jaffar standing behind her, Lugh and Ray two small babies in her arms.
"Oh Jaffar…" She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes. He was so sweet sometimes, it made her cry.
"…Promise me, Nino…" He clasped her hands in his. "If anything happens… you must be strong…"
The tears ran down her cheeks as she wept softly. She knew what he meant. The bounty hunters were always on his trail, lusting after the prize for his head. She could not imagine a life without him.
Gently, she felt his lips brushing against hers, his arms around her trembling body, his nose rubbing against hers.
She felt so warm, so safe, so comfortable… she wanted this moment to last forever…
She opened her eyes wide in shock, just in time to see a whirl of red and black disappearing out of the ajar door.
"Jaffar!" She shouted, chasing out of the door. "Jaffar?" She slammed open the door to the bathroom. It was empty.
"Jaffar, where are you?" The living room too, was deserted.
"Please…" she pleaded, tears streaming down her face. "Jaffar…come out…" The kitchen too, did not show any signs of life.
She collapsed in the overgrown garden on her knees, panting, her cheeks wet with tears. There was no sign on life anywhere, no sign on anything red or black, no sign of him.
Had she really dreamed all that had happened? Tentatively, she touched her lips. They were still slightly warm.
Picking herself up and brushing the dead leaves and blades of dried grass from her cloak, she wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. Sniffing slightly, she turned and looked at the dilapidated house one more time.
"Jaffar…"
One word conveyed her lifetime of longing and remembrance.
Clutching the locket around her neck tightly in her hand, she turned and walked out of the garden, out of the gate, disappearing in the thickening evening mist.
The red-haired man slowly came out from behind the door, head bowed.
Carefully, he made his way to the window, and peered out, at the figure disappearing into the grey mist.
A single cold tear slid down his cheek and fell onto the faded carpet.
Fin.