From Corpse to Crown: Reborn as a Mortician in Another World-Chapter 74: Mourning the Siblings She Lost

The next time Lucian heard movement from the Garden Above Ground, it was late afternoon. He brought a bottle of green tea in case she wanted a drink.

He heard the sound of soft scraping--chalk against stone. At first, Lucian didn’t move. She was still drawing. But instead of frustration, she drew with care.

When he got closer to the rock table, he noticed three things:

Alice’s drawn circle wasn’t whole, it wasn’t entirely hers, and...he didn’t recognize it. He was half-tempted to call Merry or ask his Grimoire to scan it, but that would be rude. This was Alice’s work, not his.

The pattern looked half-familiar. Angular edges. A central curl. Glyphwork built for resonance, not stability. A conduit, maybe. But it wasn’t from any lexicon he’d seen before.

Which isn’t saying much. I know what my Loom and Grimoire know, and even then they don’t tell me everything all the time.

The sky still had pink and purple bruises with pre-dawn. Mist clung along the garden’s shrubs and trees like it had separation anxiety.

He moved closer.

Alice hadn’t noticed him.

She stared at the half-drawn glyph like it had spoken.

"I remember a hallway," she whispered.

Lucian froze, just a few feet away from her. It was close enough to hear, but not enough to startle. "My hands weren’t mine yet," she continued. "I was much smaller. Softer. And there were others, I think. Stitched by the same person."

Lucian knelt beside her, watching her hands. They didn’t shake. They trembled, yes—but not from fear. More like restraint, if he had to guess. One of her hands was still holding a piece of chalk.

"Others?" he asked gently.

"Siblings," she said.

The word hung in the air, suspended like a string left mid-pluck.

"I don’t remember any names," she said. "But we lived in the same wing. We never went outside...but we all read the same books. Sometimes we would be called numbers instead of names."

Lucian swallowed.

"Was Rosa one of them?"

Alice shook her head. "She was different. I don’t know how I know, but she was an echo. A prototype. They never told us where she was stitched from--only that she was the first."

Lucian’s breath caught. "You were made in the Queen’s court?"

"I think we were made beneath it," Alice said quietly. "Where the secret things go. Where the Spymaster walks without being seen."

She finished the line, and the glyph hummed.

Lucian’s Grimoire twitched at his side.

[PARTIAL MEMORY CONDUIT ACTIVATED]

[WARNING: RESONANCE HAZARD | PERMISSION NEEDED]

He looked at Alice.

"I can stop it," she said. "I don’t have to go further."

"No," Lucian said. "You don’t. But maybe... we both should."

The glyph brightened.

And Lucian saw it—not as a memory, but as a projection.

+

There were six children. They were all dressed in white, and had threads running down their arms like little tattoos.

During meals, they sat at a long table. All of their hands were folded on their laps, and waiting for food. Along the wall, glowing glyphs moved like fish in water.

One girl laughed while another pulled at her own threads and whimpered.

Another child—quiet, with half-stitched eyes—smiled as they hummed to a tune no one else heard.

The sixth child was Alice.

But much younger, and smaller.

So this is Serafina. Lucian thought. She looked happy, playing with some wooden blocks.

And then there was the familiar clicking of heels, with an oddly long shadow.

The Spymaster entered the room.

Instantly, the air changed, and all of the children looked toward him.

"Good morning. Today," he said smoothly, "we will learn what happens when a glyph turns inside out."

Lucian felt Alice’s breath hitch beside him.

The memory flickered, like it was from a television. Then it faded into silence, like it had been turned off.

The chalk still glowed.

The circle pulsed like it wanted to show her more, but Alice pulled away. Lucian reached for her hand and found it ice-cold.

"I think...we were made to be a conduit?" she whispered. "Maybe that’s why they stitched me...us...that way?"

"If they did, you were made using a different pattern," Lucian observed.

She looked at him, head tilted, a little confused.

He continued, "You’re not just a catalyst, Alice. Not just a thread through which memory flows. Or just a doll that follows instructions. You’re learning how to hold a needle."

Alice said nothing, but there was a smile on her face.

Then: "Thank you. Do you think they’re still alive?"

"The others?"

She nodded.

Lucian didn’t answer right away. His heart said no. His gut said maybe. The Loom pulsed softly, but gave no sign.

"I don’t know," he said. "But if they are, we’ll find them."

Her eyes filled, but the tears didn’t fall.

"I didn’t even know I missed them," she said. "Not until just now."

Lucian nodded slowly. This he understood.

"Sometimes grief doesn’t fully bloom until it’s remembered. It’s all right."

Later, as Alice slept curled beneath her satchel, Lucian sat beside the fading glyph.

The circle had one mark left unfinished.

A spiral with a knot in its center.

He recognized the symbol.

A glyph of protection. But this one was denied its purpose.

He looked at Alice, sleeping soundly, then back at the mark.

Just can’t leave well enough alone, I guess. Sorry, Alice.

In silence, with a shaky hand, he took some chalk and completed the spiral.

The glyph dimmed, but accepted him. And then vanished--crumbled into dust and swept away by the wind.

But it wasn’t completely gone. He felt the energy settle into the soil, safe and sound again. As if it had never disappeared.

Or maybe it was finally home, after being found once more.

+

Deep within Gethra’s celestial library, a loose bit of parchment fluttered from an open book.

It bore the same spiral, and had a name scrawled beside it, underlined in red ink.

"Serafina: Conduit Classification Unknown. Potential Weaver Variant. Recommend Isolation."

The wind turned the page.

And buried it beneath the next.