She picked up the small shovel, and she sadly threw it back in her box. She wanted to cry, this dirt and filth thing, but she didn't let the tears that welled up in blackbutton eyes fall upon her cheeks. One failure didn't mean an entire night of failure.
She contemplated the earth beneath her feet, and she considered digging up the skull he'd buried away like something he would prefer to forget. Maybe someone should remember her? But she didn't reclaim the small shovel and dig.
Dragggggg.
Her fingers tight on the corner of the too-big box, she began the long trek out of the greenhouse. Maybe the man had been right. Maybe she needed to search the basement, though the thought made those forbidden tears well up in her eyes again.
But, no. Even if she found him down there, she'd kill him, and then she'd have him for herself. She would take him back from whoever had him. It would be alright, as long as she had him for herself. She didn't mind killing anyone in the way.
With a deep breath, she stepped out into the night and headed back toward the house.