Library: The Deathmaiden

I was once known as Alvena Evergrove, but I cannot remember who that person was, or even when exactly. It could have been a long time ago, or just a few years. Nevertheless, here I am, asking myself who I was or when. But I get ahead of myself. Between my supposed death and this moment a lot has happened. I am what they call Death's Handmaiden. For reasons unknown to me, I was chosen to carry out the deaths of those who had lived long enough and escort them to the life after. This is what I was told, and this is the task I have performed for as long as I can remember. I do not know who chose me or why, nor did not receive any training or briefing. I was simply compelled to do this, but it turned out that I am good at it. You see, there are two ways to die. The good way, where the trauma does not cause any permanent damage and the bad way, which is less fortunate. Some of us Handmaidens make such mistakes more often, but I have not in a long time. As they transition from life to afterlife, I shed my duties of a kind of midwife and become a shepherd and a guide. I escort them through the deadlands until we find their final destiny. They do not get to choose their afterlives, as their afterlives choose them and they are pulled into the mists when they arrive at theirs, and I will never see them again. The cosmology of the deadlands consists of an endless grey mist. It is easy to get lost here, despite the paths laid out before us. These paths look very similar, and it is very easy to confuse them for one another. There are also winds, each one with their own scent, and knowing the winds is vital to navigating the deadlands. I must admit that I miss some of them when they are gone, as they are better company, though they all seem rather wary of mine. Or perhaps they are simply distressed by this unexpected turn of events. Nevertheless, my service to them ends here, but I cannot help wondering what happens to them. Will they reach places that make them happy or fill them with pain? Have their faites been preordained, or is it something they did in life? Is it random? Can they affect that fate? Is there even anything beyond the mists? But I digress. As I said, I am good at what I do, but that does not mean that I like it though I cannot say that I do NOT like it either. But why then do I feel such grief for taking the life of one, and nothing when taking another? Is it something I could have felt when I was still alive? Is that person still there, buried deep inside my ephemeral soul? Is it something that could not be removed, though it should have? If only I knew. I never hesitate, but I sometimes get the feeling that I should. I cannot call it regret on good conscience, because I don't have one. And yet, something stirs within me whenever a child is orphaned or taken from their parents, lovers torn from their partners or simply friends separated by unfavorable fate. Of course, ridding the world of murderers and other monsters is almost gratifying. And yet I almost pity them too, for they all share this look of bewildered terror.Though I can make them less fearful and more accepting of their new state, most of them have questions that I cannot answer. Most of them want to know why they had to die right now, but I do not know. The best I can offer them is a shred of hope, that there is someone who knows what they are doing, and that everything will be well in the end, but of course I have no way of knowing if that is true or not. I wish I knew, but I do not. I can only believe that everything in the universe has its time and place, whether there is someone controlling it or not. There are no reasons for birth or death or anything else, because they are only separated aspects of an unseparable whole as far as I can tell. Everything simply happens and I will never know why. Mortals often make the mistake trying to learn the reasons for any given happenstance and do not realize that this only diverts them from their true happiness. Those who dedicate themselves to answering questions will most often find life rather dissatisfying, incomplete. Then there are others who simply see life as a thing of beauty to be enjoyed. Though they are also saddened for having lost so much, they at least have known fulfillment.

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Library: The Deathmaiden