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No, I cannot focus on that now.
Not when there's a kitchen in desperate need of attention. Turning toward it, I busy my hands. It soon becomes clear that it’s been ages since the place was last organized. Perhaps even longer since it was last properly cleaned.
It seems even this realm struggles with the most humble aspects of our universe, as Death had called it.
Dust has collected on nearly every surface, hardened into grime around the sink and corners of the countertops. Rolling up my sleeves, I welcome the challenge as I set to work.
Finding a rather long apron forgotten in a back corner of the pantry, I have to roll it several times before tying it around my waist. I can't imagine it belonging to Death, and yet, I can't quite picture him who he'd have working in his kitchen ... or why they aren't here anymore.
Scrubbing the pantry, I come across three perfectly round golden potatoes and two long carrots, as well as an assortment of delicious smelling herbs and spices. Smiling, I decide to start a stew for dinner while I clean.
It isn't long before the kitchen is warm with the savory aroma of vegetables and herbs. I sing as I tidy up the pots and pans, not caring that my fingers have begun to wrinkle, or that my arms have grown sore from scrubbing.
All too soon, though, the kitchen is spotless, the pantry organized, and the stew happily simmering away over the fire. Aside from waiting, there's not much else for me to do.
Sighing, I take off my apron, putting it away before moving toward the door. I'm just about to leave when I realize I need a way to easily find my way back.
I hurry over to the pantry, carefully picking out one of the jars of spices. Sniffing it, I wrinkle my nose at it before sneezing.
Hopefully, Death will forgive me for this.
It hasn't been more than a few hours since I first stepped into the kitchen, and I'm not entirely sure what I'm supposed to do with myself now. Other than roam the halls, hoping that I don't trespass and upset my host.
Outside of the kitchen, everything is as spotless as it is cold and lifeless ... until I begin sprinkling the spice's fine powder along one edge of the hall that is. I wonder how he manages to keep it so clean, especially after what I just dealt with in the kitchen.
Moving from room to room, I peer in at them. Most are empty, as expected, but a few have random assortments of black and gold furniture. One sitting room in particular calls to me, a large ornate armchair with fluffy gold pillows sits atop a thick rug, the shelves lining the walls filled to the brim with thick books.
But my excitement is soon quelled as I pull one of the books of the shelf, the sheer weight of it nearly impossible for me to hold. Laying it down on the rug, I flip it open only to realize it's written in a language I've never seen before.
Of course.
After a great deal of struggle, I manage to return the book to its shelf before continuing on.
It doesn't take long for me to realize that Death has impeccable taste when it comes to furnishings, even if everything is dark and cold. There's not an ounce of color or warmth to be found within these walls.
Aside from the kitchen, and even that seems out of place here. The only room in this sprawling palace where there's any sign that someone might actually live here. That this isn't simply a mausoleum for Death and his untouched possessions.
I frown at this thought as I move on to yet another sitting room. Everything here is otherworldly in its somber beauty, but it all just feels so empty.
So forlorn.
There are no people, no voices or laughter, to chase away the shadows that lurk in every corner. Always there, but just out of sight.
Even the rooms that have pieces of furniture don't seem to hold any life or purpose.
My wandering leads me to a towering set of black doors within a cavernous entryway. I stop just short of them, realizing that just beyond them lie the misty grounds of this realm.
Am I allowed to walk them? Do I even dare test the limits of my welcome here by venturing outside without permission?
I place my hand on the golden handle just above my head before thinking twice.
It's not worth the risk of trying.
Dropping my hand, I turn and walk toward a sweeping set of stair that I can only hope will eventually lead me back to my room.
The next two days slip past in much the same manner.
Only Death seems to be nowhere to be found, and the halls seem emptier than ever ... aside from the little trails of different colored spices that I now use to guide me through them.
