From Corpse to Crown: Reborn as a Mortician in Another World-Chapter 18: Meeting the Tallowman

Lucian let out a slow breath. His hands still tingled from trying to touch the cursed candle and the memory of hopelessness uncomfortably filled the spaces between his ribs. It started as a slow ache that spread through his body and made moving a little harder.

When it felt like Candlemere's sun was there to specifically roast him and ruin his day, Lucian reached for his pendant and took another sip of Lucy's springwater. Instantly, a steadying coolness flowed through him.

The warm darkness of grief dimmed, held back by a gentle invisible veil. Now, Lucian could tell which sorrow was his and which one was—presumably—Tallowman's. He could move through the sadness now, but not drown in it.

He looked back toward the Tallowman.

The yard was clean now. The man had finished scraping and was lining the edges with rows of new candles. While they didn't flicker with magic just yet, Lucian felt the grief baked into every one.

He steeled himself before whispering, "Michael...why are you still here?"

And why do I feel like...I already know the answer?

The hooded figure stayed silent except for the sound of the broom's slow, even strokes. He watched the Tallowman sweep melted wax from the porch cracks with sincere and slow movements.

His hood was up, covering most of his face, but Lucian could see the ghost-white lines of wax hardened into his fingertips. From where he stood, they looked like gloves grown from his grief.

Lucian stepped closer but didn't speak immediately. He didn't want to startle the Tallowman.

Then Tallowman looked up first. His eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, but not hostile. Lucian could see deep shadows under his eyes. He just looks so exhausted. It must be draining, drawing from an endless well of sadness.

"Are you Michael?" Lucian asked, gently.

The man nodded once.

"I'm Lucian. The current mortician."

A pause. Then a slow, deliberate nod. Then he kept sweeping, and Lucian didn't expect much more.

Still, there has to be something he likes..."Do you like animals more than people?" Lucian asked.

That got his attention.

Tallowman stopped sweeping, leaned on the broom handle, and turned his head slightly. Lucian thought he caught a spark of light in those otherwise flat eyes—like a candle struggling to breathe.

"I can relate," Lucian said. "They're easier to understand, and don't pretend to be okay when they aren't."

Tallowman stared at him for a long time before muttering in a low rasp, "Don't get attached to pets."

Lucian tilted his head and rested his hand on his cane. "Why not?"

The hooded figure said simply, "It's the end of the world when they pass on." There was no emotion in his words...not even anger. Just something raw and absolute, like he said 'The sky is blue.'

Lucian didn't respond right away. Instead, he looked around and observed.

Tallowman kept the front yard spotless. Even bits of old wax had been gathered and boxed neatly near the side gate. The blades of grass had been cut by hand. Stones lined the garden edges, and the lawn sparkled with dew.

He clearly cared for the place, despite everything.

Lucian's eyes drifted toward the old ash tree at the far end of the yard. It was gnarled and old, its gray bark flaking in places. At the base of it was...something. He didn't know how to explain it.

The structure wasn't a sculpture, but it wasn't natural-looking either.

There were some twigs and old cloth, with wax-shaped paw prints on the stones. It reminds me of an effigy...it must be for his pet.

"Is it a ward?" Is it for Mima? He wanted to ask, but felt like it was better not to mention her until he said something first.

Slowly, the Tallowman followed his gaze. His eyes widened for a second, and then said flatly, "That's just a pile of old leaves I've been meaning to burn."

Lucian didn't believe him, not for a second. He was too meticulous about keeping the yard clean to have forgotten about it. But he didn't insist. Instead, he commented softly, "You kept the yard nice."

There was a long pause. He stared at the wax-shaped paw prints before saying, "She liked to nap under the tree. I keep it clear."

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It was so quiet Lucian thought he imagined it, but he let the words hang in the air. There was something reverent about the way Tallowman said "she." Like Mima had been more than just a pet or a friend. She had been family to him.

Lucian looked down at his gloves. "Do animals move on fully in this world? Or do they linger like people do?"

Tallowman's voice sounded like a deflated balloon. "Only if they were unhappy."

Well...that made a lot of sense. He stared at the flat expanse of buildings and wax around them. Unless mistreated, most animals lived simple lives. They loved their owners deeply. And when they were gone, pets left nothing but warmth, fur, and a constant ache in their hearts.

Lucian wondered, not for the first time, if his job would've been easier as a pet cremator. There would have been fewer regrets—he was sure about that. Fewer stories of unfinished business. Less bone-deep sorrow.

Of course, he couldn't be too sure. He never had any pets. Lucian breathed deep, and the air smelled faintly of wax and applewood.

He turned back to the man still leaning on his broom. "You left candles out. They're too strong to touch. What are you putting in them?"

Michael didn't answer immediately. Then, with the soft rasp of someone who hadn't spoken in days, he murmured, "Memories."

Lucian felt the Grimoire stir at his side.

He knew he wasn't leaving this town without learning what kind of memories those were.

But for now, he only said: "She was lucky. To have you."

The Tallowman didn't answer. But he looked away, toward the ash tree, and said nothing for a very long time.