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Prelude

The bad smell on the wind was his first hint, but he chose to ignore it. The young man had a bright, hopeful smile fixed upon his face as he approached the cottage upon the rise. How long had it been? Would she even recognize him? Giddiness bubbled in his eyes as he took a deep breath and knocked lightly upon the small door. The scent of jasmine and the garden mixed with the bad smell, and he listened to the lazily buzzing fly as he waited for someone to answer.

Nobody did.

So he knocked again, his smile still fixed to his face despite the worry blossoming in his eyes. The door opened beneath his hand, creaking inward. The bad smell strengthened. He gasped for breath, choking down fear, as he stepped in. He called out her name. She did not answer.

He found her in her room. She stared at the cieling, motionless upon her bed. He stood in the doorway, the slow buzz of the flies louder, his eyes wide, his mouth moving soundlessly. Tears began to spill down his cheeks.

"No..." he whispered. He fell to his knees, touching her cool body, staring into her glassy eyes, taking in her face. She stank, but her face stayed whole. He buried his face into her hand, and wept.

That night, he stared at the burning cottage, watching the smoke rise to heaven. The villagers gathered some distance behind him, wondering who the young man was, and why he burned the house, but none challenged him. Not until the last ash had cooled did he turn and walk away, leaving behind only a stone erected for the memory of her.