"Have you ever experienced something so profoundly wonderful that - when it was taken from you - your life felt unbearable? ~ Elijah "The Originals" TV show

It wasn't enough.

No amount of distance between him and the shell his wife had left behind would ever be enough. The shadow of his grief was simple too large and fast; able to keep up with him no matter what clever maneuvers he might think up to escape. Screwing his eyes closed, clenching his hands into fists, and curling up as though to keep his insides where they belonged couldn't keep his world in one peace. Everything was shattering, rumbling, disintegrating, and melting around him. How was he still lying on the ground when there was nothing left to cling to?

He made no effort to suppress his grief anymore. When his body wanted to kick out or curl in, he let it. When his fingers decided to claw at the scarce hair on his skull, he didn't fight the urge – even though his nails left small bloody furrows all over his scalp. The keening noises hurt his ears and throat, and the wails strained his diaphragm… but he couldn't bring himself to care. For all his failings, he deserved this pain… and so much more.

The part that terrified him was knowing how the pain would never end. How could it? He had lost the one person in this world who saw him as a whole and beautiful human being. It hadn't mattered to Arabella that he was barely more than a boy, that he had a freakish face that set him apart from others and terrified all others. She hadn't cared about his hands, permanently stained with the blood of a man he'd killed – even if it was in her defense that he'd committed the terrible act. There was no more light or substance to the world when such a soul as Arabella no longer resided in it.

The world had returned to the darkness it had been before God created light.

He knew he had to return. It had never so much as crossed his mind to escape forever – not while things still needed to be done back at the camp. But he hadn't been able to face so much all at once. Too much had happened too fast. How much was a human expected to absorb and remain sane?

Not all of the things that had happened had been terrible. He'd married Arabella, after all, and learned how to hold her against him without terrifying her. That certainly hadn't been horrible! But it had come so soon after realizing he loved her; after finding out she was with child and nearly losing her to suicide. Then, of course, there had been the progression of her illness. Because of it, she'd lost the child and finally her own life. It felt as though he hadn't had room to stop and absorb any of it the way it deserved.

Pain did deserve to be felt. How else could someone know they were alive? But he hadn't been able to face it all in front of Arabella's tribe. To him, they were the ones truly to blame for the terrible condition she'd been trying so desperately to survive when he met her. If he'd stayed and witnessed their grief without shedding his own as much as possible… it would have led to a resent so profound that the tribe might not have survived his wrath.

How dare they pretend to mourn a girl they'd barely seen fit to protect as she so deserved? How dare they grieve for a soul they hadn't cherished as one of their own?

It was better this way… absorbing his hatred of what was to come, and the resentment he already knew welled inside of him. Without the repressed grief, the wrath might have room to live in him without exploding.

He wasn't sure just how he'd known to run away and find room for himself. At the time, all he'd thought about was not being weak in front of the gypsies. But as he sprawled on the ground and tried to hold his world together with nothing but smoke… he did realize that his absence was necessary. He couldn't stay away forever. He couldn't leave the burial of his wife to the hands of others who'd barely cared about her during her life. But he could take his moment… He could be selfish now… There was no more reason to try and be selfless, after all. Arabella was gone. His selfishness couldn't harm her anymore… and what greater harm could it possibly cause him; when his greatest pain was already cocooning him?

Oh, Erik…

She had somehow lost time. Arabella had understood – the moment she 'awakened' – that she had died. All the pain and confusion had evaporated as though it had never existed… so what else could that possibly mean? But in the process between dying and manifesting beside her husband, she'd somehow lost time. She'd become aware only once Erik was out in the forest, collapsed and grieving completely by himself… without anyone to put a hand on his shoulder or try to tell him it would be all right.

Leave it to Erik to isolate himself when he most desperately needed company. Even a companion who just barely cared enough about his loss to witness his grief might have been enough to ease his burden… But Erik had never understood the necessity of needing others in times of pain. He'd never experienced how wonderful it could be just to have someone understand without feeling simultaneous pity. In spite of all the horrors in her past she'd kept secret for so long, Arabella had still had her grandmother and Sarima to help her survive it.

Who had Erik had beside himself? She knew he'd had people in his life who cared whether he lived or died to some extent – people who'd shown kindness. But Erik had told her there was no chance they'd felt real affection or love. They had been fulfilling Christian duties in caring for him; trying to save his Soul from Hell when his outward body so clearly stated he was destined to belong there.

"Erik… I'm here…" she tried to sooth him; having waited until his sobbing had quieted a degree or two before actually speaking. It was almost as if she was still alive, and knew he wouldn't be paying full attention during the most violent portions of his grief. "I'm still here. I kept my promise. I haven't left you."

It was no good. Even though she found herself capable of maneuvering her soul so that she knelt with Erik's head seemingly on her lap and her hand stroking over his bare head and face… it did no good. There might have been the slightest hint that he still felt her presence – for around the time she realized her ability, he started to calm… But that could have been nothing more than mere coincidence. It was much better to think it was coincidences; than believe she could actually make a difference.

"You'll be all right." She promised in an aggrieved whisper. "Miri kom… you'll be all right."

It was agony… not being able to reach out to him. But if she could… wouldn't that only make him cling to her all the harder? Wouldn't that be more terrible for him? Still… she wished she could comfort him… She knew how little comfort would be waiting back at the camp ground… The tribe would not have taken kindly to his absence…

She wasn't sure just how much time had passed since her death… but it couldn't have been very long. She doubted if they three day mourning process had finished. Most likely, she imagined her body was still waiting for burial. Erik's grief still had far too much strength to it. He couldn't possibly have been abstaining from food for three days yet. He might not eat much on a regular basis, but even he would be hard pressed to soldier through a three day fasting period and still have so much strength to cry for so long.

She was tempted to go to the camp; just to see exactly what was happening so that she could orient herself. But that would require her to leave Erik behind; and she couldn't do that. She couldn't break her promise. As time passed… maybe she could wander off for periods of time… But not now. Not when he so badly needed her there; and she so badly needed to comfort him in return. Even if he wasn't aware of her presence; she couldn't break her promise.

"You'll be all right." She promised in a low whisper. "I know it hurts… I remember when my grandfather died… But the pain eases, Erik. You'll be all right. The pain will ease…"

It seemed to take forever before he could stem the flow of his grief. It wouldn't be possible to ever expel every last bit of it - there was simply too much. Still… it was hours before the very worst of it had been purged and he could catch his breath. He wasn't entirely sure when he'd taken his mask off, but was rather glad it was only a few inches away on the ground instead of suffocating his face as it was washed with cascades of salty tears. His body trembled, having wasted a great deal of strength just by releasing so much of his sorrow, so that cleaning his clothing of forest debris took a great deal more effort and time than ought to have been necessary.

At least now he could stand… he could put one foot in front of the other and deliberately move forward. It wasn't exactly the same as living… as feeling anything beyond the hollow place the grief had left behind. Still, it would allow him to return to the camp. It would allow him to take care of burying the body Arabella's soul had abandoned with all the respect it deserved. He didn't know just how his mind would continue handling the sight of a lifeless form that had once held so much silent hope and exuberant joy. It was going to be like seeing something totally other than the human he'd fallen in love with; and he felt shaky just imagining it… But he knew he had to pull through. If he could just sustain himself long enough to bury Arabella… he'd never have to think about the shell left behind ever again.

Arabella had left so much more than the shell of her own body behind. She'd taken a massive part of him with her… and there was so much missing from him due to her passing that he couldn't imagine ever being whole again. He wasn't sure he wanted to be whole again. If he moved beyond his grief and found a way to live without his wife – even with something as small and simple as contentment… would that mean he hadn't loved her enough? What would it mean when he finally learned to bear the pain instead of simply suppressing it from sheer necessity?

He hadn't known just how deeply grief could maim a person until the moment she took her very last breath. He hadn't known that a simple emotion could vanquish all you thought you were and leave you feeling like absolutely nothing and no one. It made him wish he'd never experienced all the joy that had led to such agonies…

The future looked all the bleaker for it.

Shaking his head wearily, he trudged to what had become something almost like home.

When he walked into the camp, he was met with a mass of hostile eyes that were swollen and red from intense crying. There were faces speckled with sand tiny grains of soil; something that made no sense to him until he realized just how hard some of them were trying to weep. It felt strange, seeing someone forcing themselves to mourn. Even Tsifia - whose grief was as genuine as his own – seemed intent on keeping up the bombardment of weeping; although hers was considerably quieter.

His arrival had spurred Cassimir into a near frenzy as he stalked toward Erik with clenched fists, his face red and bloated, tears seeping steadily down his cheeks. Sarima was directly behind him, muttering quietly in some plea or other in attempts to slow him down. Her husband was having none of it, though, shaking her off more than a little impatiently and snapping things Erik couldn't hear. They had both stopped even attempting to exchange words by the time they were close enough to overhear.

"Take off that mask." He ground out between clenched teeth.

Nonplused, Erik blinked hard at Anton's son.

"Excuse me?" he demanded; his voice hoarse from his crying.

"Your heard me." Cassimir replied simply. "Your wife is dead! She's dead; and you ran off to do God-only-knows what! You should be prostrate with your grief; on your knees and utterly inconsolable! You have no business holding onto the pride of a mask! We've had to start without you!"

"Cassimir." Anton barked warningly, his face looking much less distorted than his sons' as he strode up and grabbed him by the shoulder. "Let go of it, boy. He isn't like us. He hasn't been told-"

Eyes blazing, Cassimir shook his fathers' hand off violently and stepped up to Erik until they were toe-to-toe and nearly nose-to-nose.

"I don't care!" he spat. "He is going to honor her as she was – for who and what she was!"

Erik gnashed his teeth at the man, but made no move to shove him away. He was in a little too much shock over this near-strangers' vehemence to even think of violence just yet.

"On my knees?" he echoed, lost in words that had already passed. "You would think degradation appropriate. Arab-"

The hit came so suddenly that Erik didn't even realize Cassimir had pulled back his arm. One moment he was trying to speak, and the next his face was exploding in pain and his vision first lit up like the sun and then went utterly dark in quick succession. He wasn't aware of falling, but he certainly felt the ground when his rear landed on it. He was grateful for all the recent rain, or the violence of the landing might have broken his coccyx. His vision began clearing before he could even lift his hands to his nose, but not swiftly enough to see and avoid Cassimir shaking off his father for the second time just to reach down and haul him back onto temporarily clumsy legs.

"Don't you dare say her name!" the young gypsy hissed furiously. "Don't – you – dare!"

"Cass!" Anton barked again, more forcefully this time as he grabbed his son by one forearm and dug his fingers deep into the skin. "Let him go!"

"He won't dishonor one of ours anymore!"

Erik's face twisted beneath his now askew mask, and he reached out to wrap his hands angrily around the stupid mans' throat. He didn't quite have murder on his mind; but it sure as hell wasn't going to take much to make him squeeze. Cassimir – who clearly wasn't aware of Erik's strength and speed; in spite of all the rumors he'd been nurturing – was taken aback and nearly strangled himself trying to stumble back until Erik's grip was tight enough to make him think better of it. He spluttered and gagged; even though Erik knew full well his grip wasn't truly harmful.

"Yours?" he roared. "Barely a one of you has so much as spoken to her through most of her life! You can't call her yours! If she was anyones; then she was mine!"

Anton's eyes widened at the incredible grip he witnessed Erik take on his sons' throat and switched his attention over to the corpselike man instantly. He reached out to snatch at Erik's forearms and tried to pull his son free; but Erik only tightened his grip. It still wasn't a dangerous grip; but it made his point.

"Let go of my son." He ordered, although he didn't seem to believe for a moment that Erik was anywhere near as dangerous to his son as Cassimir was to Erik. "That isn't quite what he meant, Erik."

Erik shook his head, in utter disbelief that these people could so quickly stand against him when all he'd done was take a moment to grieve his wife. True… it had taken much more than a mere moment… but it was all he'd intended. His thoughts had been disjointed at the time; but he hadn't expected to be assaulted for dishonoring his own wife.

"Erik…" Tsifia implored, appearing almost like smoke over Cassimir's other shoulder. "Let him go. I need your help preparing for the funeral."

He was momentarily distracted by the oddly calm request that seemed to completely ignore what was happening before her. He glanced at Tsifia to see if she'd even taken full stock of what was going on; but Cassimir took the opportunity to slam his much larger arm down across both of his outstretched ones and break the grasp he had on the gypsy's neck. Erik gave out a small cry of shocked pain, backing away and allowing both Tsifia and Anton to step between them.

"Don't you ever say her name again!" Cassimir spat as his father began forcibly backing him away from the slightly younger gaje boy.

Tsifia glanced with annoyance over her shoulder, but quickly placed a firm hand on Erik's chest as he took a step to go after him again.

"Enough, Cassimir!" She insisted. "This disturbance isn't going to let her rest in peace! Your behavior is worse than any offense Erik's committed yet!"

"I'll take care of it." Anton assured over his shoulder as he pushed his son further and further away.

Tsifia took Erik firmly by a bicep and spun him slowly around, urging him steadily toward the tent he had shared with Arabella.

"Where is she?" Erik asked after a deep breath. He was surprised that his fingertips were actually trembling after the confrontation – although he suspected it was more from adrenaline and exhaustion than any form of fear. "You moved her. She wasn't on the pallet. I could see it from-'

"She's been put up on your stage." Tsifia said quickly, interrupting the cascade of words he'd seemed unable to suppress or slow. "We're making it a bier for her. It will give us time to arrange the funeral. You've seen enough of how we work to know she'll be buried in three days… yes?"
"Y-yes…" Erik admitted reluctantly, feeling so sick at the thought of Arabella being lowered into the earth in a coffin that he was certain he skin must be turning green. How many times, in how many ways, was this going to keep punching him in the gut? "I… I'm sorry if I did something wrong?"
He winced at how his voice cracked, turning a genuine apology to this reasonable and mostly kind woman into a question.

"You will handle your grief the way you must, Erik." Tsifia replied simply. "I'm sorry I didn't explain things to you more thoroughly – or prepare the others for your reaction… I didn't think you'd take off the way you did. Grief for us is a very public affair.'

"So I noticed." Erik muttered darkly. "I can't… I can't do that. I wasn't raised to make a public display of my emotions… or of myself in any way. If it wasn't for survival, I wouldn't be on stage the way I am every day."

"Don't go explaining yourself to me." Tsifia commanded gently. "Erik… we spend three days in mourning. No one will work or conduct business of any kind in that time. All we need do is grieve. We do not observe hygiene practices, or eat, in that time. We take in only water, coffee, and alcohol. All vessels containing water must be emptied… and you must select the items in your possession that she would need in the next world."

Erik turned slowly to his grandmother-in-law.

"You… bury things… with her?" he asked. "I thought practices like that were long gone."

"You thought wrong." Tsifia said with a shrug. "Help me select what she might need, Erik. The rest of her belongings we will get rid of – either for very cheap to a gaje, or by burning them."

"What?" His eyes widened. "Why? I mean… she didn't have much that was her own… We hadn't collected much yet. But some of it is still useful…"

"We need to get rid of anything that might hold her soul here – where it might not be able to move on." The old woman explained, taking on the tone of a lecturer. "And, Erik, whatever you do… you must never speak her name again without any other alternative. It's another one of our practices to allow her to remain in peace."

Erik closed his eyes miserably.

So … he was to act almost as though Arabella had never even existed. He was to virtually pretend she'd never been a part of his life. He was to rid the physical world of all hint she'd once made his life not only bearable… but wonderful. Even reminiscing was going to be all but forbidden… and he would have no choice but to honor the Romani way. There was no better way to honor her than to follow the protocol of her tribe…

He paused just outside of the tent, when Tsifia would have led him in, and stared at the doorway which had promised so much only two weeks before.

"Burn it all…" he whispered hoarsely. "I'll… I'll take a few personal items out… Select a thing or two to bury with her… then burn the rest."

He wouldn't take the chance of accidentally offending or trapping his late wife's spirit by keeping anything that wasn't absolutely necessary. After all… the very tent was a reminder of her. She'd procured so much of what was inside for him before he was ever even freed. The rest he didn't need, and could replace with time. None of it was important without her there.

Besides… he wouldn't need it much longer.

"There will also be no touching the body." She finished quietly. "Not until it's time to put her in a coffin."

Finally; Erik had heard something that almost gave him relief.

Tsifia had been watching him closely in the tree days it took to properly observe the mourning rituals of the tribe. He'd collected a sleeping pallet, a small back of clothing, and some other materials that would make it very easy for him to live the life of a tramp on his own. In spite of how dutifully he behaved after taking a torch to his own tent and then sitting or kneeling by Arabella's bier – her body surrounded by beautiful late-blooming flowers and lush green leaves – it was clear he was only biding his time. He'd been told repeatedly that most of the destroying of possessions happened after the burial… but he hadn't seen the point in putting the affair off. He had no use for anything that Arabella had once needed.

She doubted any other tribe members were paying enough attention to the outwardly intimidating gaje freak to notice his brief and silent preparations; but Tsifia could see he could barely stand to remain in the camp at all.

When he could no longer stand being so close to his wife without being able to touch her in his grief – at least she assumed that was his issue – he would stand and stalk off. Anton would presume it was to continue mourning in his own strange way… but it was quickly discovered he was putting himself through work. The labor seemed to put him slightly more at ease each time he became tense with weariness and sorrow… and it only took a few hours of sporadic labor for all in the tribe to see his project from a distance was a coffin…

Erik smoothed his hands over the wood; glad he'd made this decision. It was something much rawer and coarser than anything Arabella deserved…

(His gypsy princess deserved something of gold, jewels and glass… just like in a fairy tale…)

…But he couldn't help feeling that it was more than fitting. Arabella had been a reasonably simpl young woman… a girl of the earth. Taking down small trees and roughly making his own idea of what Arabella should be buried within would give her exactly what she deserved without the excesses of wealth. He could envision gently lying her body in the slim and uneven box, surrounded by the same beautiful nature that created her bier. He could envision her dark hair cascading over the garlands of lush green leaves that had grown limp in the past days. He could see flowers enfolding her hands and framing her face. At her feet would be the small items Tsifia had helped him to select for her to use in a following life…

He'd rarely ever seen a coffin… and the Romani would barely afford more than plain wooden boxes for their dead a majority of the time. In spite of how smooth the wood to those coffins were… Erik felt the rough and truer quality of his made it seem like his wife would be held in the safety of a hollowed tree for all eternity… rather than a cold and unfeeling box.

He had nothing but dispassion for the corpse she'd left behind… but every time he closed his eyes… he saw her smile… he saw her devastatingly compassionate eyes… he heard her soft and rare laughter. He could remember the swirling of the dress he'd bought her when she danced, and the way she could dance like fire or move as smoothly as water in front of an entranced audience.

It had never been his music that led his observers, when Arabella was on his stage.

It had always been her.

There was no need to hire mourners on the day of the funeral. As the tribe marched its' way into the nearest graveyard, every single person in the kumpania wailed and wept their hardest and loudest. Erik played his own role as the leader of the march, dread filling him as his steps began to drag and his knees began to buckle. It was torture, being in the lead and knowing that it was going to be his fault if the burial took longer than necessary. But he didn't want to lower her into the ground. He wanted a miracle to happen so that she could open her eyes and exclaim that she wasn't dead… that she didn't want to be put to rest in the cold, strange earth. Still… his fantasy would never be a reality… and he forced his feet to continue moving at all costs. He couldn't weep like the people behind him; who had begun reverting to their outward hatred of him the longer he resisted showing any signs of real weakness. What he could do was make certain Arabella was laid to rest properly.

If he had just been allowed to follow the crowd… it would have been so much easier to be dragged behind than to be pushed ahead…

The ceremony was its' very simplest, with a waiting priest uttering the necessary words and the crowd responding accordingly. As the coffin was lowered into the earth, the tribe nearly screamed its' grief – just to be certain Arabella's soul would not haunt them. Erik found himself completely mute, suppressing the shudders that tried to wrack his body and the sobs that attempted to make a final appearance. His whole body was trembling slightly as the tribe came forward and began to pitch coins and dirt into the open grave, scattering all of it on and around the coffin of rough gray wood.

Erik saved his coins and earth for last, watching as the tribe began to slink away. Already a few of them were shedding their grief; although all remained appropriately morose. Tsifia lingered only a moment; glancing uneasily down at his feet. No one had said anything to him about the packing he'd done that morning. No one had questioned his choice to bring it all along to the grave site. Either they accepted his silent decision to move on alone… or they were too dense to see it coming. Tsifia, however, looked almost like she were going to say something to try and stop him now that they were nearly alone… and he turned his back to her to avoid a confrontation – even of the gentlest kind.

"Thank you, Erik." She finally said with a voice much stronger than he'd have expected – she'd been one of the greatest wailers through the course of the whole ceremony. It was a miracle she hadn't gotten herself completely hoarse. "Thank you for teaching her what love actually was…"

Erik clamped his eyes shut and almost doubled over from the pain her words inspired.

"No…" he objected, clenching a hand into a fist as he spoke through gnashed teeth. "You have it wrong, Madam… She was the one who taught me."

And I will never know what it is like again…

She was the only one of her kind…

He waited until he was quite certain Tsifia had left; accepting his refusal to say personal good-byes. Then, after a brief glimpse around… he finally let his knees buck… and he reached down into the grave to brush the coffin top with his fingertips. It left streaks of clean raw wood through the dirt and coins that had mounded there, making an almost musical sound as the coins clinked together and scratched across the surface. It was only muffled by the soil it moved through.

"I love you…" he whispered. "I love you…"

But he couldn't bring himself to speak her name. He couldn't bring himself to commit that act of defiance… in spite of the promise that doing so would mean she might haunt him… that she might not be at rest. What would such a thing matter when he would only have the angry and terrible side of her? He didn't know how it was possible… Arabella had no angry and horrible side – and if she had, it was harmless. But he had to respect who she was… had to honor what she'd been… and had to love every bit of it…

Slowly, with tears gluing his mask to his face, he arose and turned quickly from the grave. Somewhere nearby, someone was waiting to fill the hole in the earth with earth… and he did not want to see it when they entombed her forever.

He refused to look back as he trudged in the opposite direction of the tribe. He would not be remaining anywhere that reminded him of Arabella. Not in Spain, where her language surrounded him… not in France, where they'd met. No… he had to go much further than that before he could ever let himself stop wandering. He would remove himself as much as possible from the tribe and the Spanish. He would keep away from all temptation to revisit the memories that now hurt as much as they soothed. He would lock Arabella up in his memories… and he would do what she'd have wanted him to.

He would live… and he would be free…

He just didn't know how…

How could living after such a loss be good? Didn't moving on and living your life as though you'd never had the person you lost really mean you hadn't truly loved them?

Slowly, he could feel his emotions begin shutting down and walling themselves off. With each slow step it became easier to walk. It became bearable to feel his heart beating. It became a simple case of going through the motions… and surviving.

A/N: Thank you very much to all of you who have biven me such wonderful and helpful reviews. Thank you to those who have followed and favorited my story. I am touched that so many of you enjoyed my story. I certainly hope that none of my chapters - partiularly this one - let you down!

As you could see... Erik is never really going to be alone again...

So... maybe someday... we'll see just how devotedly that promise to never leave him gets carried through.