Trying to find an actual occupation in a world that held about nothing at all save for a handful of people was quite difficult, especially considering the obvious heirarchy of those called the Chosen over the actual city-born, those that were there both before and after whatever happened to this world to make it the way it currently was. Mag wasn't one to judge the world, or worlds, of anyone else considering this one, as broken as it was, was much better than the one she had come from, despite not being established in this city the way she would like to be. With that said, Mag kept her spirits high and took to the streets of die Festung, searching for anything that needed her attention, because she wasn't going to allow herself to just sit back and wait for something to happen, nor was she the type that would let things just come to her in good time. She was eager, and willing to help, should anyone city born be able to see past her Chosen status and welcome her assistance.
Despite the weather conditions, Mag bundled herself up as best as she could and left her apartment each day to tackle the things that lay ahead for her in the city, caring only of the people that lived, worked and survived around her, not asking for anything at all from them in return, though they seemed so willing and ready to give should she only open her lips and ask. She stumbled upon a small, hole in the wall sort of cafe, which could not have been a better term for it considering it literally had an entrance that seemed to be a large gaping hole, though somehow a prosperous citizen had transformed it into some make-shift diner where patrons of all types, city-born as well as the revered Chosen could come, sit and dine with each other should they choose to venture in that part of the city. Mag, of course, had dared, and that was how she ended up there, day after day. Upon first arrival, a small step over a crumbling brick ledge, Mag found herself inside of this cafe of sorts, a scattered few settled amongst the small tables that had been dragged in from various parts of the city itself, and though the building had a roof over it, flakes of snow had managed to slither inside and had begun to pile up in one corner closest to the entrance, as well as upon one of the tables in the establishment. The furniture was random, as were the assortment of patrons, those that dined on plates filled with the city's mystery meat, or scraps of granola bars, their bodies settled in various types of chairs that included a small childs school chair, a pink plastic hard backed chair that had a hole singed in the neon back, a few kitchen chairs that may have been dragged from an apartment, a recliner of sorts and a bean bag.
Not all of the seats were spoken for, but a few of them had residents, and all of the patrons had seemed to be in groups, save for one older gentleman, one whom seemed more feeble than the rest, whom was settled in the bean bag that had been absently plopped next to a lowered coffee table upon which the man was currently dining. Mag spotted him instantly, him seeming to be the lonliest looking man she had ever laid her electric blue eyes upon, and she didn't hesitate to approach him.
Every day, it was the same thing, Mag appeared in this cafe, sat with the old man, and they talked. At first the initial engagement hadn't been so simple, she was a stranger and a Chosen citizen of this city, and yet there seemed a need in both of them for a friend. He took to her almost immediately after deciding that she wasn't going to hurt him, and something between them blossomed. In good time, it was like Mag had always known this man, he was simple and kind, and still so in love with the woman that he had lost to whatever had happened to this city.
"You know, Magdelene, my Rosie would've liked you.." Maurice, the older man, often said to her, in the kindest of ways, causing her eyes to light up and her cheeks to flush, no matter how many times he told her. She wanted to meet his love, his Rosie, but she was deceased and Mag could tell that he missed her deeply. They had been married for over fifty years, and had lived in this city together with their small family until the things here occurred, which caused Maurice to lose everyone except himself. He didn't know anything about what had happened, only that things were different as far as life went in the city after that. Things had gotten rough, and hopeless, like the times he had had as a boy back in the country he was from before relocating to this city, which had once been prosperous.
Over the course of what seemed to stretch it's way into two weeks, a day at a time, Maurice had grown to adore the mysterious woman with the even more intriguing eyes, offering her a scrap of an old photograph of himself and his Rosie, the woman he loved with every fiber in his whole body, and Mag accepted it from him. She was beautiful, this woman, and seemed to be so strong, and yet she had abandoned the man she loved for worlds unknown. It was almost too sad to bear.
That was how she ended up at the cemetary, one without a name, just something the citizens here had erected in honor of those that they loved which had passed. That was one thing this world and Mag's own had in common, they buried their dead, though in Mag's world, it was a privledge to be buried. Most of the people that died did so because they couldn't pay, and it was to the pit with their corpses. No, this was something much simpler, more beautiful, and the snow only seemed to enhance it. Maurice had brought her the first time, to show her where Rosie lay, one of the small, unmarked bumps in the ground that he had been to visit every day since her passing. Mag found that to be completely remarkable, how dedicated he was to come back day after day, but what else could you do at such an age? To be with someone for so long and lose them, only to spend your days yearning for them? It was so sad, yet so beautiful. People often took love for granted, and of course there were people like she herself that had never known a true love like that of Maurice and Rosie.
She stood there, in the snow, infront of the bump that Maurice had insisted held the woman he loved, holding their scrap of a picture in her cold, pale fingers. She came every day to say hello to Rosie, with or without her friend Maurice, caught up in the fairytale of their seemingly perfect but tragic story. It was almost too much, and yet she found that if she didn't come to see Rosie, part of her felt empty. She was compelled to visit, to stay and talk, and to try to know the woman in the ground, the one who's lover missed her so dearly.
It was almost like a story, and Mag was reading carefully through every page, though the pages seemed stained in blood.
She sighed, the warm air of her breath colliding with the cold air that surrounded her, trying to push her back into the warm sanctuary of her apartment, but she didn't move. She lingered on, holding that picture in her fingers, hoping one day to really, truly understand what made the human heart so naive, and yet so perfect.
Especially in such a world as this.
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