While Johannes slept, Olanna allowed herself the privilege of rage. Tension took over, her brow threatened to crush her pale face, and her teeth gnashed together. Few travelers passing by on their way south gave the demon woman a second look. At night she wore the mask for him. Just like when they were together, she was the ever obedient wife looking ahead to a life of work and children, and maybe love in the cracks between.
But it was not her kismet to have the life she imagined. No, it was mourner’s clothes for her now, black until a year was past and the chance of Johannes returning was gone. It was tradition. Olanna thought about it when she let slip the funeral mask and took her usual way home, but even with the possibility of his return she didn’t really believe things could change.
Johannes rose on the third night and scratched at her window, dressed in his muddy burial suit. He didn’t need