A/N: Please listen to Wiege (VIVINOS – ALNST Original Soundtrack Part. 9) by BL8M and 6FU; to elevate your reading experience. 

This story is a work of fiction. The virus and medical references within are entirely fictional and created for narrative purposes only. This piece contains themes of illness, loss and grief that may be sensitive for some readers.

The soft light from the LED bulbs illuminated the small kitchen as I carefully dumped out the contents of my mixing bowl into a cooking tray. I gently shook out all the air bubbles and popped it in the oven. I set the timer and then went to wash the residue from the batter off my hands.

My eyes glanced out at the darkened sky above, only illuminated by the stars dancing across it. I always felt at peace looking at the night sky; it always reminded me of her.

Twelve years ago today, my mother passed away on a business trip. She was the last member of our family aside from me. My father passed away shortly after I was born. The last person left to look after me was my aunt. I spent the next eight years with her until I moved out and got a place of my own.

There was not a lot I was able to hold onto to remember her by, aside from the very blood that runs through my veins and a lullaby she used to sing me every night before bed.

By now the words have eluded me, but the melody remains persistent through the years. I turn off the tap and dry my hands. After I set down the towel I begin to sway as I hum the lullaby to myself, my eyes closing. All at once I feel at peace again just as I did all those years ago, just a little kid in the embrace of their mother’s arms.

I can almost feel her arms enveloping me, leaning into the warm touch. The moment is broken as I hear a second hum join mine, a deeper baritone. My fiancé, Phillip, was swaying with me. He had picked up the melody from hearing me mindlessly hum it so many times.

I turned to him with a smile, wrapping my arms around him as we continued to sway in time with each other. We stayed like that until the timer went off and we took out the cake from the oven. I iced it with Mom’s favorite blue icing, and Phillip added the mint leaves and various sprinkles. Finally, I added her name – “Gloria Eve Goldwyn” – with a small heart at the bottom on the face of the cake in bright yellow icing.

Phillip left to light the fireplace in the dining room as I admired our hard work. Once he came back, I scooped up the cake and some plates while he got the utensils.

In our town it was customary to always honor the dead on their death-iversary. You tell a story or sing a song that reminds you of them. We hummed the tune once more together as we headed to the table.

Bake a dish and dedicate it to them, then everyone present makes a silent wish to the departed. I cut a slice of the cake and set it gently on a plate. I handed the slice to Phillip as he closed his eyes and made his wish. When it was my turn, I could only think to wish was that she was living happily in the world beyond. I always made sure to let her know that I was still doing okay. I’ve always wondered if people could worry in the afterlife.

Then the moment is finally completed by the burning of the food to the deceased. I held the plate over the fire as Phillip carefully used a fork to slide the cake into the flames. They dance as they envelop the cake, turning a variety of colors.

The colors fade until I am pulled back into the present as I stare blankly at the flames of the campfire.

“Marigold! Are you listening?” The leader of our group, Rose, snaps her fingers in front of my eyes.

I blink and look at her. “Sorry, what was that? I zoned out.”

She sighs. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately. I’m starting to doubt your commitment to finding this cure.”

The cure.

Our town had been hit by Sonace, a virus that spread rapidly through unknown means. In just mere months it had gone from lively and peaceful to devastated and dead. Everyone had been desperately searching for a cure in their own ways. I researched at home while Phillip went out into the field to perform experiments trying to narrow down the effects. They made short progress before I received a heartbreaking call that Phillip had caught Sonace.

I wanted to stay by Phillip’s side, but he insisted I continue to search for the cure in his place. There was nothing more I could do for him, which deep inside I knew. The virus would slowly attack his heart over time as it slowly broke down his immune functions. He had maybe a year at best and half at worst. I had to save him.

“I am committed, you know this, Rose,” I snap.

She raises her hands defensively. “Then show it. Come on, it’s time to search the cave. This is our last lead.”

We put out the fire and we make our way cautiously into the small, dark opening. The five of us make our way through all the traps and carefully maneuver the crumbling footing beneath us. Eventually, the room expands into a cavernous space.

We all walk around, examining the room but find nothing but a letter.

August 27th, 2013

To whoever finds this letter,

I have spent the last six years of my life trying to perfect my own medicine to modify the human body. It was meant to increase the health and strength of anyone by convincing the brain that the heart could take more than it can, allowing it to excel past regular human capabilities. But in my haste of the final stages, I decided I must try it on myself.

Everything has gone very wrong. I can feel it causing my body to attack itself. My heart is growing weaker by the day. I cannot even speak to yell for help. The cell service in these woods is so terrible that the only thing I can do is barely write this letter.

Please if you are reading this, I’m sorry. God, I hope my colleagues do not try their samples on themselves. There is not much time left for me. If, in worst case scenario, this virus does spread then please find my daughter. Her name is Marigold Goldwyn. Tell her that I am so sorry.

The virus has a cure that I made just in case the medicine had some unknown side effect. A lullaby I used to sing her. Surely, she should remember it well. It is this world’s last hope. Find Marigold and the lullaby.

For likely the final time,

Professor Gloria Goldwyn

“…Mom?”