The first snow had arrived earlier in the month, and it had piled up. Grell loved the snow; it's soft texture was bound by the frigid breath of winter, its delicate structure could crush so easily under the lightest touch. OH! Winter truly symbolized a virgin bride, the white of her skin laid over the dead earth, penetrated by the massive pillars of dead trees as their branches reached up to embrace their bride. She blushed, vaguely reminded of her lover, oh, it had been such a wonderful month. The ring on her finger manifested her happiness, not even the news of the Thorns had necessitated her love for the mortician. Still though, there was a voice in her head that urged her to approach him with the answer to why she had contracted Thorns.
Every other night or so she'd spend with her lover, other times he'd arrive at her house bearing a treat (whether in the form of food, gifts, or more intimate favors.) She'd make dinner as her own way of greeting him, it seemed fair. It was, after all, a lady's job to make sure her man was well-fed. How else would they have the energy to consummate their union? In her hand she held a small basket; she prepared a hot soup and it was more than likely to be lukewarm by the time she reached her lover's cabin. The pot of soup had been secured, along with some sugar cookies she made and a bottle of exotic wine. She had a small collection, but it was only right for a lady to drink such festive beverages for special occasions. It was such an occasion, it was their five week anniversary, surely once they reached a year it would only be an annual celebration, but why let the wine rot under her bed?
Then again, wine got better with age, much like her lover appeared to.
"Ah~!" her lover welcomed, eerie grin in place and arms open wide. The golden light of the fire permeated through his black cloak and curved around his well-sculpted body, making him appear even more phantom like than he usually did, "You look so cold,"
He took her free hand, gently pulling her inside, "Come in, warm yourself by the fire,"
"I'd rather warm myself next to you," Grell purred, setting the basket down on the counter besides the door, shutting the door when her hand was free.
"Mm, later dearier," he removed her winter cap and began to unbutton her fur coat, "There's a storm coming in tonight, it's best you stay. The winds frigid breath will try and steal the earth's bride away,"
"Oh, so Romantic," Grell leaned up and kissed his lips as he eased the jacket off her shoulder, "Save that for later,"
He leaned his body into her own, easing the sleeves off of her arms. He kissed her neck idly, letting her shivering body embrace his own as he leaned into even farther to hang the jacket. He succeeding without tripping, surprising by his thick heels. Once regaining his poise he embraced his lover, kissing the top of her head and cooing, "I love it when you shake like that, seeking my warmth,"
Grell arched against him, hinting her desire, "I can shake even more fervently if you desire,"
His focus turned to the basket she brought, "And disregard the meal you prepared? That is rather rude to a lady of your stature,"
Undertaker did not have a table, so to speak, he had a coffin he built for his own personal use. The interior acted as his occasional bed while the lid acted as a table. After setting up two bowls, two spoons, two beakers for the wine, and a small plate for the pastries Grell had prepared, they sat across from one another and ate. Undertaker loved soup, mainly because of the noodles. He enjoyed slurping them, sucking them into his mouth from between his lips; he claimed it reminded him of the worms that would eat his mortal customers up. In a twisted route of fate though said worm would die and be consumed by its own people after consuming the dead. Death was the ultimate form of cannibalism, their being shinigami only added to that arrogance.
Grell apologized for the cold wine, he informed her he preferred it cold. After all, the older one got the more likely they were to lie cold in the ground. His lover found his eerie view of life and death vaguely sensual.
"Undertaker," Grell brought up, smiling at him from across the table, "The doctor, at the Labyrinth said the strangest thing,"
"Oh?" Undertaker furrowing his brow, "What did he say?"
"He said that I am cured of the Thorns of Death," Grell shifted somewhat, trying to find a comfortable position on the ground she was sitting on.
"Oh, that?" Undertaker shrugged, stirring his wine with his long, black index finger-nail, "That's just a side-effect of the potion I gave you. Don't take offense to it, dearie-"
He sipped his chilled wine before standing and approaching her. He sat besides her, taking her hand in his while his other played with her hair, which was damp from the snow, "-They were blank, just waiting for Michaelis' blood. A false soul that sprung its wreathe around your heart. It was the only way to assure we weren't caught,"
He chuckled, running his nails down her ear-lobe, jaw, and neck in admiration, "Are you not satisfied with this body?"
He leaned down and kissed her neck, hands running her the straps of her dress, "So white and pure, like a pillar depicting Medusa before her goddess. Oh, this body I fitted you for that would vow a thousand virgins to slaughter. No vice can come from this body, nothing bad can be fruitful in this body,"
His lips kissed the top of her breasts, which had been perked up a bit to show. He brought his eyes to her, her cheeks flushed and eyes dazed from his words and caresses, "You are Death, perfectly white and perfectly invincible,"
The snow that fell that night was immaculately the same.
It was eleven in the morning and still Grell hadn't arrived at the Labyrinth. William, making one of his unofficial visits, had no choice but to take her place.
"Maybe she got snowed in?" Ronald suggested to his sen-pai, adding two sugars to his coffee, "The storm was pretty bad, had to get up two hours early just to get to work on time. Grell does live in the woods, it's completely isolated out there, I wouldn't be surprised,"
William shrugged, staring down into his cup of coffee. He knew perfectly well that was a likely reason, but he couldn't believe it one bit. Grell wasn't late because of some snow-storm, she wasn't having trouble getting to work, she was with the mortician. Since he took her place this morning that thought instantly shot into his mind, she was with that mad-man. He also began to think why he should care? What was the point? In all honesty, why did he have to care about her love-life? It was her own business and by the bare minimum it was perfectly legal. That was the logical side of him, there was an irrational part of him screaming and hollering.
She's fucking him and you're doing nothing!
It's none of my business, if she wants to mess up her own life that's her affair. Not mine.
She's your subordinate, find her and beat some sense into her! She belongs to you!
She only works for me...
The voices in his head were getting heated, his internal dispute could not be settled. Slowly upon the two voices lust began to enter the secession and melded the void between the voices together. He wanted to see Grell, he wanted to see her nude form and embrace her. He wanted her lover out of the way, his blood was boiling! Lust was overcoming him and in its wake, pure, untamed, unrestrained jealousy followed. Its flaring, black shadow taking over all of the logic left in his head.
He left after lunch, leaving Eric in charge.