From Corpse to Crown: Reborn as a Mortician in Another World-Chapter 60: Someone Else’s Softness

Alice, so used to following her companions, didn’t realize she’d wandered off until the fog curled around the forest.

The others were gone. She was a little nervous--she hadn’t been alone since she’d woken up. No matter what happened, Lucian, Merry, and now Cadrel were often nearby.

Hopefully they’ll catch up soon...I don’t really have much magic to speak of...

There was no telling how the Vale measured distance, or why it decided to separate them. Alice decided the best way to proceed was to be cautious. One wrong step and she could end up lost for years.

She stopped walking when she saw a door. It was small, set into a wall that hadn’t been there before. Or at least...she was pretty sure. It was painted a pale blue and there was a bit of rust on the handle.

It looked familiar, but not to her.

Ah. Rosa must have seen a door like this.

She reached a gloved hand out, but didn’t have to.

The Vale opened it for her.

+

Inside was a sitting room, old and unremarkable. It was quiet but surrounded by a lot of little things that made Alice’s heart ache.

There was a chipped teacup on the table. A folded scarf by the window. The faintest scent of parchment and cloves.

Alice stepped inside, and as she did, Rosa stepped forward too.

Not physically. She had given up control over her body in Staesis. But Alice felt...strange. Like her body had become too full and her fingers were no longer just hers.

She dropped and hugged her knees, gasping. "Not now..." she whispered. "Please, not now!"

But the Vale didn’t listen.

+

Suddenly it was nighttime and she was sitting in a carriage. Droplets of rain pattered across the windows, and she vaguely saw horses with fiery manes.

A young man in black with his hair tied in a ponytail was seated across from her.

Lucian.

He looked a little scared. Tense. Staring at nothing. He held his cane so tightly his knuckles were bone-white.

"Do you want me to wait here?" she heard herself ask.

Her own voice, but not her words.

Lucian gave a stiff nod.

"Mmhm. Just...stay out of sight."

She nodded. Smiled. Folded her hands.

He stepped out.

The carriage door closed.

+

Rosa—Alice—sat in stillness for nearly three hours.

Just in case he came back needing someone to talk to.

At one point, she lifted the carriage’s storage trunk and took out some knitting needles and yarn. She wanted to make him a blanket he could use throughout their journey.

Alice felt embarrassed--she had never thought about that.

The Vale flooded her with Rosa’s memories, from before she woke up.

Not vivid, not sharp—but steady. Quiet.

It was days of waiting on benches, occasionally speaking to the carriage driver. Rosa held grief silently in her lap while the mortician did his work.

But it wasn’t just Lucian--it was a steady barrage of everyone she had ever served. Rosa constantly smiled at people who wouldn’t look her in the eye. Sometimes she made tea no one remembered asking for.

She had never been powerful.

Rosa had simply been there.

And Alice?

Alice was loud. Restless. Constantly fidgeting with her scarf. Always afraid she would break something just by speaking too soon.

"I’m not her," she murmured. "I’m not patient like Rosa. I don’t belong."

However, the Vale disagreed.

+

In the next room, a silver mirror appeared.

The glass was a little grimy, and when Alice wiped it clean, she saw two faces.

One hers.

One not.

Rosa’s face—faint, ghosted, like a reflection left behind.

"Why are you still here?" Alice asked aloud.

The mirror didn’t respond.

But she felt the answer.

Grief doesn’t leave just because it’s quiet.

Sometimes, the person who held space becomes the space itself.

Alice touched the glass with her fingertips.

"I’m not strong like you," she whispered.

"I wasn’t strong either," Rosa replied, smiling as she continued knitting. "I just didn’t run."

+

The Vale shifted again, and suddenly Alice was in the middle of a cemetery. Instead of barren trees, they were lush and green with rainbow-colored flowers, their petals gently falling in the breeze.

Every grave was blank. They weren’t nameless, just unfinished.

One grave had a bronze statue of two hands, palm up, on it. Each hand had a name carved in it:

ALICE/ ROSA

The slash flickered, like it was trying to decide which name truly belonged. Alice’s heart was in her throat, fearing the worst.

Just then, a glyph hovered above the grave. It didn’t look like the glyphs Lucian, Elian, or Merry cast, or from a rite.

It gave her an uncomfortable feeling, but it settled inside her chest.

[Ritual Thread Found: Undefined Soul Anchoring]

Memory Alignment: In Progress

Note: Resolution is required before the Imprint Solidifies.

Alice stared.

"Resolution?" she asked. "What resolution?"

The Vale pulsed softly.

Quietly, a new figure stepped forward from behind the tombstone. It looked like Lucian, but his form was slightly transparent.

It was a memory of him, and he looked utterly lost. He looked straight into her soul and whispered, "I don’t know who you are anymore."

That broke her.

Because she didn’t either.

+

Alice ran until her legs gave out. She stomped through the mist, memories, and doorways that had no rooms. Until at last, she found the edge of the world.

She saw a great grassy hill with flowers made of thread and time. On top if it stood a gleaming loom, standing in stillness. Beside it was a woman wearing a veil.

Waiting for her.

Quietly, Alice walked up the hill. When she got closer, the woman bowed her head slightly in recognition.

"I shouldn’t be here," Alice said.

"And yet, here you are," the Spinnermaid replied.

"I’m not even... real."

"You are not Rosa."

Alice nodded.

"But you are not not Rosa either."

That made her breath catch.

"What does that make me?"

The Spinnermaid raised a gloved hand and gestured to the loom.

"A thread re-spun. A name not yet woven. A softness that refused to vanish."

Alice stepped forward.

The threads stirred.

"I want to be someone," she said.

"You already are."

The Spinnermaid tilted her head.

"You may ask to learn," she said. "But I will only teach one."

Alice looked down at her hands.

One was steady.

One trembled.

"I’ll ask anyway," she said.

And took her place beside the Loom.