TWWM: Dwelling During A Plague

CW: death, funerals, grieving, loss of loved ones, loss of self worth, giving up on oneself, illness, blood

Astéri closed the door with a sigh. A long day had led to a long night, with her door constantly being hammered upon and then left empty, only another funeral on her doorstep. There had been a sickness in the main town, and it had brought much to her doors. Food, gifts for her work, but also family members.
She leaned against the doorframe, hands shaking from exhaustion. Skiá approached, a cup of water and some olives in a bowl held out in front of her. "One moment," Astéri's voice was hoarse. "I need to wash up."
She did not get sick often, not physically at least. The winter's dark sun often found her lying in bed throughout the days, but this was never a physical sickness. Astéri had learned many things from her mother, but the most important thing she had learned was how to disinfect. She remained clean, and so the sickness did not enter her house.
Something else had, however, entered her heart. After Astéri had cleaned her hands, the red haired woman approached again, and the two sat down to their evening meal. Looking up, Skiá smiled. "Do you remember the day with the goats?" Astéri returned her smile, gazing into her warm honeyed eyes. "I do."
Skiá was still there the morning after she had been dropped off at Astéri's doorstep, and she continued to stay. One morning, she had gone out, and Astéri assumed that would be the last she would see of the red haired stranger.
A few hours later, with the hot sun burning overhead, Astéri had heard a knock at the door. Skiá was back, beaming, with two goats on leashes following her. "A present! To thank you for helping me." Astéri had gaped, looking back and forth from the goats to the woman.
She had taken the goats and tied their leashes to a post, and then picked up the smaller woman. Astéri twirled around with Skiá in her arms, laughing happily. "You came back!" She lowered Skiá and pressed their foreheads together. Wild hair in her eyes, Astéri kissed the smaller woman.
It had been months since that day, and the pair now shared the workload of the house. They greeted the dawn together, had goat cheese and bread for morning meals, and were happy together. Skiá's leg was never exactly the same - no matter how good a healer Astéri was, bones sometimes don't behave properly.
It didn't matter though, until the sickness came to visit. Astéri wrapped a body lying on her worktable outside, packing salt to preserve the skin, and then lowering it into a respectfully carved box.
Skiá had taken to making them in her spare time, personal and made by her hand. She hammered together rough wood and sanded it gently, and then carved it at night. She filled the boxes with roses and vines, flicking wood shavings into the fire. This box was covered in doves, hawks, and bees.
Astéri smiled sadly as she placed the coffin onto a large stack of wood, with many others. Since the plague had come, there was no other way to demolish it than burning. A burning torch and several jarfuls of oil did the job - and then Astéri went back inside to Skiá. She sat on Astéri's, no, their, bed, and in her hands was a needle and cross stitch.
Astéri sat with a smile, and guided her hands around Skiá's, who still fumbled with a needle. Skiá sighed and leaned her head back against the taller women's shoulder. "I can't say I understand why you city people and your crafts," she let her hands fall to cradle Astéri's.
"Well you're doing wonderfully, I love this! A forest scene with a- er-" Skiá's shoved her playfully. "It's a wolf! You can tell, stop teasing." Astéri grinned and kissed the top of Skiá's head. "Your wolf is beautiful," she put away the cross stitch and held the red haired woman closely. "And so are you, my love," with a whisper, Astéri blew out the oil lamp, and they fell asleep.
It had been another few months, and the two women had settled comfortably into a domestic lifestyle. Working in tandem, Skiá helped Astéri with her daily work, as the plague was still going on. One night, as they were eating dinner, Skiá began to cough. And cough. And cough. Blood splattered the napkin she held against her mouth.
Astéri felt fear strike her heart like a dark knife. She rushed forward, just in time to catch Skiá as she fell from her chair, unconscious. Forgetting about everything else, Astéri bound her streaked hair and set to work. She used everything she had - everything she ever learned - to try and cure her love.
In the end, Astéri could do nothing. She sat there, holding Skiá's hand for days. She tried to coax her to drink water, laid beside her and read to her, no longer caring if she caught the sickness. If she caught it, she would be with Skiá again. The day finally came, the day where the pair were separated.
Leaning her forward against Skiá's hand, Astéri listened to her lover's wheezing breaths growing slower, until they stopped completely. The tall woman choked back a sob and looked at her love, flame red hair spread around her head on the pillow like a halo.
"I love you," she whispered. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you for a second time."
The next day Skiá was buried, in a clumsily made box Astéri assembled herself. It was carved by her, covered with Skiá's favorite things. Goats, wolves, forests. Two moths adorned the front, carved shakily into the wood. Astéri buried her under a new moon, and sat by the grave for hours.
At one point, she fell asleep, her mind haunted with dreams. Voices floated through her consciousness, calling to her, pulling and tugging at her. She awoke the next morning to a small sprout of a bush growing atop the dirt.
She shook her head and went back to her house, already finding 5 more people who needed her services. She threw herself into her work, embalming, wrapping, packing quickly and with precision. She didn't bother to clean, to disinfect, or to take breaks.
She worked days without stopping, drinking rain that fell from the sky and eating whatever was left on her doorstep. Astéri no longer cared about anything. Soon, however, her customers dried up. No one wanted to live in a plague town. She had to sell the goats, Skiá's goats, just to afford food. Her house crumbled around her, filled with vines and weeds.
It happened one night three years after her love had left her, that Astéri passed. She sat in their old bedroom, staring out the window at a warm full moon. The light of it reminded her of the honeyed warmth of Skiá's eyes, the color of golden sunlight when you dive into the water and look up from underneath, peace, at last, from this life.
Astéri took a deep breath, and let herself shed a tear. She exhaled, inhaled, exhaled, and let her body relax. The moon highlighted her still figure, a smile on her face, and the sea salt breeze blew through her home one last time.