Elegy For An Epilogue

The dawn arrived, heralding the sun’s arrival as its yellow rays shone glaringly down upon the camp. Neither too hot, nor too cold the wonderful warmth did well to soothe any unwanted troubles. Horses trodded ahead of large carriages at a leisurely gait as tamers held their reins. Their hooves clicked against the rocky path with every stomp, quickly drawing the atmosphere into a gentle lull.

Cecillia sat atop one of the carriages with her gaze lifted to the skies. Her orbs of oceans reflected the clear skies and as she drew in a breath, the air was crisp with viridian promise. She looked around, taking in the other carriages traveling alongside one another in a tightly knit pack of hope. Faces peeked out from bumbling coaches, mostly children that were still groggy with sleep. Their small heads rested against the wooden frame, and one of them even caught sight of the girl, flashing a bright smile.

Cecillia waved a delicate hand and the breeze rustled through her obsidian hair. Bluey sat next to her, wobbling as every tiny bump shook the carriage. She saw Blackie in the corner of her vision, atop its back was that little girl who had come up to her just two days prior. They seemed happy.

Her legs dangled freely off the edge as she released a deep sigh. Yesterday had been a long day, far longer than it should have been. Her body ached, muscles weighed down with soreness as her face grew glum. There was a certain thickness in her throat, something that even the loveliest tints of autumn could not help to aid.

Closing her eyes, the darkness flooded her vision. She laid against the roof of the carriage, back pressing against the wood as she embraced the absence of light. The feeling that was wrought was nice and a contented smile lifted her lips.

***

The day passed, with the next flying by until an entire week came and went. In this time, Cecillia had become quite popular among the villagers. As the only woman with black hair, she had already been standing out like a sore thumb. But with her beautiful features, the fact was emphasized even further.

Many attempted to strike up a conversation, but with her indifferent and flat personality, not at all did anyone succeed. Some women even harboured feelings of jealousy towards the raven haired beauty. Yet no one dared to say a word after their eyes laid upon the massive wolf that continually padded after her.

Meanwhile, Cecillia had been oblivious to it all. She thought that the people were just being friendly and polite, just curious to see a new face. In the end, it had been mostly true. This world seemed to contain people that could’ve been models back on earth. Even the ugliest of people were still pleasant to set sights upon. Her notoriety had died down after a couple of days and she became known as the girl with the wolf.

“Wolf girl!” a voice shouted. “What the hell are you doing?!”

Cecillia barely acknowledged the hissing of the sizzling pan as she dropped it with a clatter to the rack above the flames. Oil spilled out dangerously, igniting a sudden burst of fire. Smoke billowed up into her face and she scowled. Her attention snapped to the voice, the scowl on her face deepening as she locked eyes with whoever dared to interrupt her.

“That’s not my name,” Cecillia said irritably.

Standing before her was such a person that would make even Doran look small. Head Chef Diana Ramsayer, the insatiable one. The woman—if she could even be called one—was large, both tall and broad like a man with bulging muscles. She wore simple, loose fitting clothes with a white apron over her top. Her eyes gleamed with anger, nostrils flaring with a pulsing vein in her forehead that completed the look.

“Useless cooks like you don’t deserve a name,” Chef Diana glowered. She then slammed a plate onto the table with enough force to cause a single running fracture. “Come here and tell me,” she growled. “Look with your dumb pretty eyes and tell me what the hell this is.”

The rich aroma of meat wafted through the air as Cecillia sulked on over. She stared at the plate and wondered what was so wrong about it. A piece of chicken sat against the porcelain with wisps of steam rising into the air. Vegetables were neatly prepared, arranged in a pattern that was both colorful and caused the mouth to water. A homey sauce that was drizzled over completed the plate and Cecillia deemed it beyond what she considered perfection.

“It’s the chicken I cooked,” she said.

Chef Diana blinked, her eyes widening as another vein in her face exploded. “You call this cooked chicken?! By the gods, what have you been doing for the past hour? This is a disaster!”

Cecillia glared at the woman prodding the dish that she had poured all her love and care into. Just two days ago since they weren’t allowed to leave the camp, Laen had suggested she go work with the cooks. At first, she didn’t listen and tried to sneak out, but Doran had caught her, saying that it wouldn’t be safe. Of course she heeded his warning.

With nothing to do, she had taken up the boy’s suggestion in the end. Cecillia figured that it would help to level her cooking job while getting some coin on the side. Yet the minute she stepped in the kitchen, it had been one disaster after another. Even when her every move had been scrutinized, with the fellow cooks adding their advice, nothing seemed to work out. She was an utter whirlwind of catastrophe, and everything she prepared was harshly rejected by the head chef.

“Why is it a disaster?” Cecillia retorted. “There’s nothing wrong with it. It’s food.”

“Don’t you get smart with me wolf girl,” Chef Diana peered down at her, leaning in close as Cecillia flinched. “What kind of a chef would call their dishes, just food?”

The Chef took out a fork and knife from seemingly nowhere. The silverware flashed as the woman spun it in her hands before stabbing into the meat. Carefully, Diana cut out a piece and brought it up to her mouth with the fork. She took her time chewing the meat, relishing the taste as her burning eyes contained all of Cecillia’s flaws.

The girl shivered back a little from the gaze as the juices dribbled down the woman’s chin. The atmosphere was silent, save the squelching sounds from those detestable teeth. It was a hideous scene to behold, really. And as Diana finished with an audible gulp, the cutlery in her hands fell to the table with a clang.

“Gordon! Get your ass over here!” The Chef shouted. From the far side of the kitchen, a man dropped everything and hurried over. He had kind eyes and a plump round belly. Most importantly, he had been one of the cooks who had made a genuine attempt to help Cecillia.

“At your service Head Chef,” Gordon said and smiled. “What can I do for you?”

Diana pointed at the plate, “Gordon, the wolf girl seems to care more about how beautiful she looks rather than her cooking. I need you to show her everything that is wrong with this rubbish.”

“Yes Head Chef!” he declared.

Although, as the man’s gaze fell to the table, his expression immediately darkened. Nothing more needed to be said and Cecillia sighed. At this point, she just wanted to crawl up into a hole, this cooking stuff was just too much.

“Cecillia honey,” he stammered, quickly noticing her crestfallen face. “Cooking isn’t for everyone, please don’t feel bad about yourself.”

“...Thanks, that helps a lot,” she muttered.

“Anytime dear,” Gordon smiled.

The man seemed to be unable to read the room as he looked somewhat happy about himself. Cecillia shook her head inwardly and the cook began cutting into her chicken. Like Diana, he brought the meat into his mouth, but the disapproval he tried to hide didn’t go unnoticed by Cecillia.

“So?” she asked. “What’s wrong with it?”

Gordon was about to explain, but when he met her gaze his body was stricken with fear. Cecillia hadn’t realized it, but her eyes were of an iridescent icy blade, mercilessly piercing. The poor man must’ve felt like prey. Gordon’s hand shook slightly and he swallowed as he set the fork down.

“T-the meat… It’s… it’s” he began but his words became ever so quiet.

“Gordon, what’s wrong?” Head Chef Diana spoke, gripping the man’s shoulder with an iron clamp. “Go on, tell the failure her failures.”

Cecillia shot a glare towards the Gorilla Ramsayer and the man being released from her sight, gasped for air.

“R-right away H-head Chef,” he stuttered.. He turned back to Cecillia as beads of sweat formed on his brow. “The meat is dry and tough. That’s because it's overcooked. The seasoning… you did alright, but it’s not enough. There should be more salt and less pepper. And the sauce…” he paused. “It’s really overpowering. It doesn’t compliment the meat and sticks out on its own. It just—”

His words were fast, as if he no longer wanted to stick around. But Cecillia only stared blankly, behind her slate of nothingness, was astonishment. She didn’t understand how both cooks had taken only a single bite and were still able to diagnose every single flaw. Then again, she could’ve done the same in a combative sense.

Cecillia tilted her head. “It just what?”

Gordon flinched but couldn’t escape being sandwiched between the two women. “It just… ruins it.”

His face was apologetic while Head Chef Diana released a bellowing laugh. Cecillia sighed as her eyes fell down to the plate. It couldn’t be that bad, she had tried it herself and it had tasted much better than anything she had made on earth. To see all her efforts crumble in front of her eyes… It was certainly disheartening.

“Now, Cecillia, it isn't all that bad. I can see that you… you tried your best,” he said gently. “You’re just missing something that every passionate cook has. And that’s th—”

“Thank you Chef Gordon,” Diana interrupted. “You may leave now. Pick up your wages from Emma.”

The man politely bowed, flashing a pitying glance towards Cecillia before mouthing a good luck. She gave him a confused look, weren’t they done for the day? Gordon didn’t seem to catch on and as he left the tent with a rustle, the hunkering Head Chef once again turned her attention towards Cecillia.

“You have an idea of what’s wrong now do you?” Diana boomed.

Cecillia gave a stiff nod “...I do.”

“Then come back tomorrow, I will give you one final chance to prove yourself before you can piss off out of my kitchen.”

With that, the Chef turned and walked towards the exit. But as Cecillia followed after, the woman’s head whipped around with a frightening glare.

“Wolf girl!” Diana roared and crossed her arms. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“You said come back tomorrow,” Cecillia stated. The two held each other’s stares for a solid second, none backing down until a scoff left the chef’s lips. The gorilla of a woman pointed towards the sinks where a mountain of unwashed dishes piled to the ceiling.

“Do you think I’m going to clean those?” The chef questioned.

Cecillia gulped as her shoulders caved. A towel was shoved into her hands and in the next second, the woman was nowhere to be seen. The tent flaps shook and her only companion was an exhaustive silence. Cecillia heaved out a heavy sigh, and the next three hours were filled with boundless fucks.

When she finally finished, Cecillia stood there with her sweaty, grime filled hands. The dishes, all of them were now squeaky clean, but the exhaustion wasn’t worth it. She contemplated quitting the next morning, not even bothering to show. But whenever she thought of that woman’s face, her mind would bristle up uncontrollably.

‘Fuck you head chef,’ she scowled.

Cecillia stretched before letting out another sigh. Her shoulders slouched from fatigue and as she left the tent, she found that it was already nighttime. The stars were shining brightly, twin moons staring down at her with pity. The only thing that served to help was the twilight breeze.

Taking in a breath, she went along the path towards her tent, but her eyes quickly picked up on a small figure leaning against a wooden pole.

“Laen?” Cecillia asked. The boy smiled and walked up to her.

“Another long shift?” he asked in a tone that was both light and teasing.

Cecillia stared at the boy wordlessly and he laughed. She hadn’t expected to see him here, not especially so late.

“Well… you’re here earlier than yesterday so it must’ve been better than yesterday,” he giggled. “Anyways, Dad said I could go hunting tomorrow. Want to come?”

“I can’t,” Cecillia glanced down helplessly. “They’ll fire me.”

The Head Chef’s words still echoed in her head. One final chance was it?

“Oh that sucks, can I take Blackie then?” he asked.

“Blackie? Sure, but she’s not going to protect you if you’re going to die,” Cecillia said.

The boy grinned. “Trust me, that’s never going to happen. I’ll see you tomorrow okay?”

“Sure kid.”

The kid blew a raspberry at her as he started running towards his tent. Cecillia’s eyes trailed after him uselessly before she shook her head with a sigh. When she arrived at her own tent, Blackie and Bluey were both waiting for her. They must’ve shared what she was feeling because their eyes were unusually soft.

“Stop it,” she mumbled.

Lying on her bed, she closed her eyes and hoped that whatever was coming tomorrow, wouldn’t haunt her dreams.