A quick author's note - this scene takes place in a real catacomb in Palermo. If you are not squeamish, this site has pictures and information on the Capuchin crypts...http/members. don't say I didn't warn you.
I've been wanting to use it in a story for ages.
The Capuchin monk nodded his gratitude as Helene pressed a donation into his calloused hand.
"Are you certain, Signora, that you would not want one of us to escort you into the catacombs?"
"Grazie, ma no."
When the monk left her, she walked quickly down the shallow steps into the endless vaults.
She was surrounded by death.
There were corpses everywhere. Centuries worth of the departed. They were tucked neatly onto shelves, hanging from the walls in eternal rows.
They lay with arms crossed over bony chests or sagged against the white-washed plaster, heads askew and jaws gaping.
They were dressed as they had in life…in gowns, in suits, in priestly vestments and soldierly uniforms.
Helene kept her eyes lowered beneath her veil as she passed among them.
Perhaps most disturbing were the tiny, withered corpses of infants and small children with tiny bonnets growing stiff and yellow around mummified faces.
She hurried on until she came to a heavy silver-trimmed casket.
A fine layer of dust had settled on its glass top. She took a handkerchief from her little bag and wiped it away, Theo's half-forgotten face becoming clear as she did.
Like the others around him, he had been mummified by the Capuchins. His body had been dried on a rack before being treated with a mix of herbs and vinegar.
But those ministrations could not hold off the gruesome alteration of death. His features were hideous now, sunken as the skin pulled tight across the bones.
Beneath his fading suit, she knew the exact places where the knife had sunk into his flesh.
She could hardly bear to look at him now.
As she knelt on the little prie-Dieu before him, she drew back her veil.
She had resumed wearing mourning the day she left Erik. She felt as if she had been somehow widowed for second time.
Over a month had past since that final night in his arms. She had forced herself not to think of him, not to dream of him.
Now, kneeling beside her husband's coffin, she let herself weep for Erik. She covered her face with her hands and let the tears come freely.
"Helene…Helene…Helene!"