Tears of Despair and Joy.

Drop. Drop. Drop.

The echo of drops falling on the ground was the only sound in the Land of the Forgotten. There was no other sound, other than the sound of sobbing. Who was sobbing, one would ask? For once it was not any of the lost, forgotten souls that inhabited the dark realm, nor the specters that served the ruler of that place. No.

It was coming from the very ruler of that realm.

Xibalba had never been the type to cry, but this was way too much for him to beat. He felt like he was suffocating, and his heart cracking into tiny fragments that would probably never be fixed again. His eyes stung with uncharacteristic tears of pure sorrow and grief, his large black wings drooped on the ground. His serpentine companion was wrapped around his arm, hissing softly and rubbing its two heads against its master's arm, trying in vain to comfort him.

As he kneeled in front of the body of his dearly-departed wife, his whole heart cracked even more with the contrastingly colorful surroundings. He decorated the room like she would have liked, adorned with marigolds, candles and all types of flowers. The walls were painted a soft red, with golden outlines, that drew figures such as hearts and sugar skulls. La Muerte's body lay peacefully on top of a pedestal, as if she were asleep; how he wished that was the case.

Her hands were resting on her chest, her dark blue eyelids were closed, and she had a small smile on her scarlet lips; he couldn't understand how she could have smiled if had known she would pass away. She wore a beautiful white gown similar to her own dress, adorned with even more marigolds at the edges of her collar, sleeves and skirt; her long, black flowing hair had been decorated with flowers such as sunflowers, lilies and daisies. Even in death, her beauty was astounding.

Oh, how cruelly ironic; they were gods of the dead, yet death itself turned on its mistress and took her from him. Xibalba's hands squeezed his wife's cold hand as he tried to prevent more tears from coming out of him, even though it seemed it was impossible for the moment. Her warmth was long gone, and so every time he touched her he felt like he was touching eyes, even with his gloves on. How did this happen? What had gone wrong? It was supposed to be the happiest day in both their lives, the birth of their daughter.

"What's going on?"

"She's losing too much blood! We're losing her!"

"Let me in!"

"Hang on, milady!"

"LA MUERTE!"

Xibalba stiffened upon remembering that night. He had stormed into the room to find his wife's life ebbing away and his newly-born daughter giving her birthing cry. She managed to hold his hand one more time, and give him a goodbye kiss. He pleaded her, begged her not to go, but she could do nothing about it, for death was too powerful even for her.

Still, despite her child having cause her death, La Muerte showed no ill-aimed emotions at her in her last moments; all the contrary, she had wanted to see her baby at least once, she kissed her daughter's forehead for the first and only time, soothing the child into slumber. Her last words had been 'her name is Marigold', then she was gone.

Everything after that was a blur. He remembered screaming to the heavens in anguish and grief, startling the child out of her nap. He recalled holding La Muerte's body in his arms, as close to him as he could like it would bring her back to him. He remembered sending, in a sorrowful rage, all the spirits scrambling out of the room, including Carmen Sánchez, who held his newborn child. He even remembered the cruel words he uttered at the baby without the latter even knowing it.

'She's no daughter of mine'.

Xibalba didn't know what he was thinking on speaking those words. Sure, he had been grief-stricken and angry, but that was no excuse for rejecting an innocent baby, as Carmen put it. Sure, he lost a wife, but the child lost a mother; there was no way he could ever compare it. Xibalba himself wanted to believe this, with all his might he tried not to show any resentment at Marigold for taking her mother's life, he knew deep inside that she hadn't meant to do so. But another part of him, the one that was still grieving and angry, blamed her for La Muerte's fate.

If La Muerte had heard those words coming from him, she would have been furious at him. Nay, she would have hated him, and he couldn't even stand the thought of his darling wife despising him. But at the same time, how could he love the one that killed his wife? That's what the other part of him repeated incessantly, no matter what he did to try to silence it. Two weeks had passed since, but to him it would always feel like yesterday.

His love, his amor, his corazón, his angel, was gone, this time forever. He would never hear her laughter, nor her heavenly voice as she sang. He would never feel her warm touch on his beard with her gentle hands. He would never hold her in his arms, nor taste her lips in a kiss, nor run his hands through her beautiful hair again.

The Land of the Remembered had cried for the loss; all the fiestas and celebrations ceased as the spirits cried and wept for the loss of their Queen. For the first time in eons, the Land of the Remembered turned into a place of sorrow. According to the Ancient Rules, the realm was his now that La Muerte had unfortunately passed away because he was her husband, but he wasn't happy. Were the circumstances different, he would have even jumped of joy, but now he wanted nothing to do with that land. What was the case, if La Muerte would not be by his side? Every single corner of the Land of the Remembered reminded him of her, made his heart break even more than it was.

Unable to bear the painful memories any longer, Xibalba finally stood up and stroked La Muerte's cheek with longing and sadness, before bowing down and planting a kiss on her forehead. Luckily, a god's body never rotted away like mortal bodies, and so he would keep her there with no problem at all. The spirits of the Remembered had wanted to make a monument to their Queen and place her body there, but he rejected the idea; he would not let anyone take his wife away from him once more. So he brought her over to his realm of darkness and despair, and used one of the many spare rooms in his castle to make a sanctuary for her, the place in which he was right now.

"See you later, mi amor." Xibalba whispered in a raspy voice from all the sobbing, before reluctantly turning away and gliding out of the room, his hands behind his back.

His servants avoided him, knowing he wanted to be alone and would show no mercy to anyone who dared disturb him in this state, as the Candlemaker learned the bad way when he tried to comfort the dark god. Xibalba had lashed out in anger and threw sharp feathers from his wings at him.

He didn't understand his pain.

No one did.

The dark crib was a few steps away from his bed. Because of this, Xibalba avoided going into his chambers for the past two weeks after Marigold's birth, instead spending the nights alone in his living room or the throne room, sleeping on the couch or his throne, remembering La Muerte, leaving the care of his daughter to his servants. Xibalba would often try to escape form reality by indulging in his wine to temporally soothe the pain in his broken heart, but it would always return tenfold when he returned from his drunken state. However, his back was starting to ache from sleeping on hard stone, and begged him to go to bed.

As soon as he stepped into his personal chambers, Xibalba locked the door.

For the past two weeks, Xibalba hadn't been able to even look at her, but he couldn't regret her existence either. It would mean that La Muerte's sacrifice had been in vain.

He had aimed for his bed as soon as he stepped in and didn't even look at the crib, but his curiosity of Marigold's looks was winning. He had not seen how she looked like, if she looked more like her mother or him, and he wanted to know. Gathering up his courage, Xibalba approached the crib and took a look at his daughter, his hand resting on the edge of the cradle.

Marigold was all bundled up in blankets to keep her warm; she was identical to La Muerte in nearly every aspect, which suddenly made looking at her even more painful for Xibalba. Her skin was made of white sugar, her hair consisted of curls of black on top of her head, and she had golden markings on her chubby cheeks. From what Carmen told him, Marigold inherited his wings and his eyes but he had yet to see them.

Xibalba hesitated, but after a while he managed to touch his baby's cheek with his claw-like fingers. This made her open her eyes slightly and look up at him questioningly; it was then that Xibalba certified that Marigold had his eyes, red pupils with a green glow.

Xibalba couldn't bear looking at her for too long, it brought him too many painful memories. However, as he was about to remove his hand and step away from the crib, something stopped him. Marigold's tiny fingers had wrapped around his index finger, as if she was asking him to stay. The dark god tried to release his finger from her grasp, but as he did so, the baby was seemingly startled by the tension and started to cry.

Xibalba panicked; he hadn't meant to make her cry. He could just call one of his servants and tell him to soothe her down, but something inside him was stirring when he heard his daughter cry. Reluctantly, he bent down and took her in his arms, holding her close to him. He bounced her a little to try and soothe her, but it was not working; Xibalba struggled to keep Marigold in his arms when she started wriggling in her covers, her wings trying to free themselves from their 'jail'.

Maybe if he spoke to her she would calm down.

"Shhhh…" He cooed, wiping the tiny tears on the corners of his daughter's eyes with his fingers carefully. "Sh-sh-sh. Ya, ya, ya. Don't worry, pequeña. Papi's got you now."

Marigold sobbed a little bit, but her crying diminished, thankfully, and she started settling down. At least it was a good start. He wondered if she recognized his voice form when he'd speak to her when she was in La Muerte's womb.

"I know I haven't seen you these last days, but I want you to know that I'm here." Xibalba continued speaking as he brushed a lock of black hair from Marigold's face and tickle her nose with his finger, making her gurgle adorable. Despite the tension, Xibalba couldn't help but chuckle silently. "There. Are you feeling better, pequeña?"

Marigold was still sobbing, so there had to be something he was overlooking. He was not precisely the parental type, he was still new in all this stuff, after all. He did know that babies cried if they were either hungry, stressed, or had a dirty diaper. Xibalba was hoping it was the first option, because he didn't know how to change diapers; he hadn't really paid attention when La Muerte was explaining him how to during the first trimester of her pregnancy.

With a snap of his fingers, Xibalba appeared a baby bottle filled with warm horchata out of thin air. He lowered it close to Marigold´s lips, and she immediately latched on it, suckling her meal eagerly. Xibalba sighed in relief and glided to his ebony rocking chair, for those days when he wanted to relax; he took seat and watched as his daughter continued with her meal. Marigold seemed content enough for the moment, for which he was grateful, but something else was starting to stir within him. He couldn't explain what, only that he wanted to hold his little one close to him at all times, and protect her from any harm that may come upon her. Now that he thought of it, the voice within him that resented the child had been silent for a while now.

It was a while before Marigold moved her head away from the bottle, but then she started whimpering one more time, and she tilted her head side from side awkwardly.

Oh, no. Did he do something wrong? Xibalba quickly put the bottle aside and bounced her a bit, hoping it would calm her down. When that didn't work, he tried patting her back firmly yet softly to see if she needed to burp.

After a few minutes, she let out a great burp…

…But Xibalba couldn't have predicted that part of her meal would come out with it. He quickly held her away from his body just as she vomited a milky liquid, but he couldn't do anything as great part of it spilled unto his cloak.

"Maldita sea!" Xibalba snapped, staring down at the mess of his cloak; he had sent it to the laundry last week, for goodness sake! Then he frowned at his daughter. "That was uncalled for, jovencita!"

But his annoyance vanished when Marigold giggled innocently, her lips wet with the milky vomit, and held out her little arms for him. Xibalba sighed and once more held his child close in an embrace.

"Oh, well. I can't stay mad at you for long, can I?" he chuckled grimly, playing with her fingers. Xibalba started swaying his rocking chair with his wings softly.

"You know, you look a bit like your mami." He whispered softly, his skull pupils set on Marigold's wriggling little body. "You're like a smaller, chubbier, baldy version of your mami. It's a pity you didn't get to know her, pequeña, you would have adored her as much as I did. I still do, actually." His voice started shaking and his eyes were tearing up. "It's been very hard for papi. Getting used to the idea that he will never be able to kiss her, to embrace her, it's completely unbearable." Xibalba couldn't do anything as his eyes stung with tears once more. "I just loved your mami so much. She was the sun to my world"

Something caught his attention. Something was pulling on his beard. Looking down, he realized Marigold was fidgeting with his beard curiously, gurgling as her little fingers entangled with the white hairs.

Just like la Muerte used to do.

That very moment, every single root of resentment Xibalba held for the little one for taking her mother's life withered away, instead blossoming into fatherly love, adoration for this little thing, this miracle of life, this memento of his beloved wife.

Smiling genuinely for the first time in days despite the contradictory tears, Xibalba started playing with his daughter's fingers once more. "You're a tiny bit of mami, pequeña, and for that you're very especial to papi. I promise you, I will always be there for you, no matter what."

Marigold giggled as she felt her father plant a kiss on her forehead. After a while, she was lulled to sleep by her father's heart beat and breathing, her eyes closing shut as she rested her head against Xibalba's chest plate. Xibalba stood up and walked towards Marigold's crib silently. The dark god then laid his daughter's fragile body inside the crib, tucker her in as silently as he could, and planted another kiss on her forehead.

"Dulces sueños…" Xibalba smiled at his daughter, stroking her cheek lovingly, giving her the tender look he used to give her mother. "Mi pequeña Marigold. As soon as he knew she was fast asleep, Xibalba straightened up and looked down at the mess in his cloak.

"Vaya." He sighed. "Another dirty cloak before time."