On a hill overlooking the sea just south of Dun Garok, two wandering figures stopped to admire the view. The smaller of the two stooped to pluck some flowers out of the ground.
"What I still don't understand," Gierta was saying, "is why ye had to go breakin' me leg. Was it necessary?"
"Yes," Soulgrip replied.
"Why?"
"I could hardly let you go running off into even more trouble."
"And the conk on the noggin? What was that for?"
"Your convenience."
"My what?"
"You would never have gone with me willingly under the circumstances. After you tried to run, I understood that. I do remember what it was like to be alive, you know."
Met with such impeccable logic, Gierta naturally changed the subject. "Gonna bring some flowers, Marta? They'll like that."
"You must not call me that." Soulgrip's cold, hollow voice managed to sound full of weary resignation. Even now, she thought, she still always gets her way. It was almost enough to make a Death Knight laugh. As she bent on one knee to examine the flowers, a strange feeling stole over her. Her hand caressed the plant like an old, dear friend. Her fingers found the spot they were looking for, bending the stem just so. Her other hand gently plucked the blossom from the stem, careful not to damage it. She had done this often before, when she'd been alive. Soulgrip twirled the flower in her hand. What a strange feeling, to be haunted by oneself.
"Look, if you'd rather not visit with me, we can do this another time."
"No," Soulgrip said firmly. She quickly picked a small handful of flowers, managing to find a fair variety of colors. "We will visit them now. Together."
As they crested the hill, a cluster of three graves came into view. Soulgrip hung back a little, but Gierta ran up to them immediately. She knelt in front of the center grave, laying the flowers down on the ground in front of it.
"Papa," she said to the blank stone in the middle. "Mama," to the stone on the right, and "Junior," to the one on the left. Their brother had been named Dirrik, after their father, and Soulgrip felt a small twinge of affection for her little sister, that she would include him despite never really having known him.
Girt fussed with her tied-back hair as she went on. "I'm sorry I havna' stopped by more, but I brought someone I hope ye'll be glad is here." She bit her lip for a moment. "I suppose nothing really worked out the way ye expected, now. But...but I think ye'd be proud of her anyway." With that, she hung her head in silence.
Soulgrip stepped forward, dividing her flowers evenly to place on each grave marker, but said nothing. Speaking to the dead the way Gierta had, in her present condition, might be pushing the bounds of decency too far. She was not sure what she would have said, anyway. Gierta would one day take her place here beside them, amidst the earth and stone where she belonged, but Soulgrip doubted she herself would ever be granted such peace, even if she found a way to end this wretched existence.
She noticed Girt's shoulders heaving silently, and wondered if similar thoughts were on her mind. She stepped forward, awkwardly placing a hand on Gierta's shoulder. Girt immediately clutched the hand of what was once her sister and smiled up at her gratefully through her tears.
Soulgrip felt another flash of emotion, though naturally (or rather, unnaturally) her face gave no sign of it. This time it was pride, at seeing Girt smile in such a distressing moment. She did not think Marta would have handled herself nearly so well, had their fates been switched. Perhaps, if nothing else, that was something she could thank the Light for.
"Promise me, Marta." Gierta turned back to the graves. "Promise ye'll never leave me."
Again, Soulgrip finished in her mind. Her instinct was to refuse, but she remembered from her life as a priest how much comfort such empty promises gave to troubled hearts.
"I promise," she said.
The End