Qebhet (coolwaters) wrote in nevermore_logs, @ 2021-01-09 19:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | hecate, qebhet |
WHO Qebhet and Hecate
WHEN Saturday afternoon
WHERE Qebhet’s apartment, Harlem
WHAT Tea and conversation
WARNINGS TBA, talk of death
In the weeks since Hecate’s return from Hades, life (and death) in the Western Funeral Home had settled more or less back into a familiar rhythm. The festive season always brought an uptick in deaths, and Qebhet had worked through the holidays. She’d spent Christmas Day soothing the frightened ghost of a woman killed in a car accident while making a last-minute supply dash. She’d seen out the old year trading reminiscences with the shadow of a great-grandfather who had determinedly held on for one final Christmas. Death was indifferent to the occasion, and when it came, somebody needed to be there to offer care and comfort. Every so often, her thoughts would skip back to Hecate, and to the three blood-bound boys who had been responsible for the goddess’s murder. To the one of the trio, not sixteen, who had wept for the violence and offered food scraps to Hecuba. A gentle heart in an ungentle place. Hectic and wild days, Hecate had spoken of. It had an ominous sound, though perhaps that was only recent experience colouring her reading. The return from death could be rocky, particularly so violent a death as Hecate’s. Perhaps that was all she had meant. But if Qebhet could not bring calm to Hecate’s days, at least she could offer a short reprieve. The day was crisp and chilly, but the inside of her apartment was cosy and filled with the warming scent of honey and cardamom wafting from a fresh-baked cake cooling on the kitchen counter. Nedjem drowsed atop the cats’ scratching post, dangling tail contentedly swishing, while Pepi – elfin-faced, and with a mischievous streak to match – batted playfully at it. It had the desired effect; before long, Nedjem leapt from her perch and soon the pair were skittering around after each other like mad things. Watching them, Qebhet smiled fondly. |