"Don't be. Death is the only constant in the world. It's something that most people have to look forward to in the end. And then we move on to whatever is next."
"Don't you know?" I asked curiously.
"I'm alive," Hel pointed out. "I have no way of knowing."
"You can talk to the dead."
"There are some questions that aren't asked. I don't know if the dead are unable to answer, or if it's been passed down through necromancer lines to respect them enough not to ask, but it's not something we talk about. It was one of the first lessons my mother taught me about necromancy." Sadness flitted over her beautiful face, making my heart ache for her.
"You miss her."
"I've missed her for about seven hundred years," Hel said.
"Have you talked to her since?"
"When I have big news to tell her, but it's fleeting, and it isn't the same," she said. "I'm sorry, this isn't what you want to hear when you're making your potion to try and see your dad again."
"It's fine," I assured her. "I know that it's not going to be the same as him being here. But I think that's part of why I need to do it. It's not just for me either. There are so many people who come into the shop asking for something to help with their grief, and we have nothing. Normally, I can help them with a sleep potion so at least they get the rest they need, but it's not the same. It doesn't help the pain."
Something about the way Hel was looking at me felt different. Like she was seeing something for the first time. "It's about grief."
"Of course it's about grief. Isn't that why you're a mortician? Beyond being a death goddess."
"I could be anything I wanted to be," she said. "Many of the gods have reinvented themselves more than once. If the rumours are to be believed, Seth is an architect."
"You're going to have to give me context on that one, I'm really not good on mythology."
"Egyptian god of chaos. And some other things, but I have no idea what they are," Hel responded. "He's been reclusive for most of my life, so I've never actually met him."
"If you don't feel like you have to be a mortician because of what you are, then why do you do it?" I asked, leaning forward and only realising once I had that there now wasn't very much space between us at all.
"Because doing this helps people. Saying goodbye is hard. I've had my share of it. And the idea that I might be able to help someone with that process is enough to keep me in the job. Though I don't work long hours. I'm expensive."
I laughed. "I wouldn't expect anything else from a death goddess. That's quite a flex to be able to say you were embalmed by one."
"If the dead can speak to one another," she responded.
"I believe they can. If the afterlife is real, and it must be for necromancers to be able to speak with the dead, then the dead must be somewhere."
"Maybe. Or they could just be echoes that we think are the dead," Hel said.
"I don't think it matters. I mean, it does for the people who are dead. But for the living, it doesn't. For us, it's about the comfort the contact brings us in our grief."
"That's a beautiful way of looking at it," Hel said.
"I've had experience."
"I'm sorry." She reached out and touched the back of my hand with hers, making sparks jump to life within me even from the simple touch.
"Everyone deals with it. Everyone dies, everyone moves on. Well, except immortals. I suppose they don't have funerals."
"Some of them do," she responded. "I've done them for gods and immortals who are very much alive."
I frowned, trying to figure out how that would work. "Why?"
"Because forever is a long time." A sad expression crossed her face, and I found myself wondering how many people she'd told this to over the years. "People change in that time. I know I have. Sometimes, an immortal wants to say goodbye to the person they used to be so they can fully embrace who they are now."
"That's beautiful."
