Etaoin

Foundation member (Vice-president) Undead (Manes) Featured plant: Populus alba (white poplar)

Etaoin Shrdlu lit an essence stick at the altar. As the current leader of Clan Linotype, it was her duty to hold the memorial ceremony for their passed ancestors each year. Her teachers taught her that the love from the living would carry the message across the border to the afterlife, and one day she would hear the answer from the dead.

Her time of service was cut short during a conquest. In a tide turning battle, Etaoin stayed behind so the others could retreat to safety. She was a good supporter in the battlefield, but couldn’t do much by herself.

However, this outcome was not unexpected. Her successor took over her position and continue to rule over Clan Linotype. Etaoin was hailed as a hero and had her portrait put in the shrine. She had a good life.

One day, Etaoin woke up with a book dropped on her face. She picked it up, before reading it, she noticed how time had washed the deep colour out of her fingers. Her entire body was of a wispy grey held together in a dragon form.

The book, if it could be called that, was a handful of paper roughly bound together. The older pages in the front had been rubbed torn by the constant rebound. It didn’t even had a cover.

It was a series of letters. Etaoin’s eyes teared up when she found out how her clanmates missed her. She savoured the words before flipping to the next entry. So the ancestors were right, the message did deliver. She didn’t know where in the afterlife she was, but she thanked everything that led this book to her.

At first she thought she was getting too used to the love, but the letters in the middle section felt less thoughtful. Generic appreciation took up the shorter pages. Then the words became messy. Fading ink scribbled on the smooth new paper.

Etaoin’s eyes were as blank as the last page. Of course. Did she had any image in mind when she held the memorials? Past of her ancestor was nothing more than a footnote in the clan’s history, and bedtime stories for the hatchlings. Those memories would eventually fade.

A cup of tea on a tray slid on the floor next to her. The Fae who put it there sat on the bookshelf of her line of sight. They were being formal with their crest gesture.

“Excuse me for the delayed delivery. My messenger had trouble locating you.” The Fae bowed their head, then gestured to the exit of this archive. “You are free to leave after finish that.”

Etaoin took a sip of the tea. The flora-infused liquid flowed down her incorporeal throat. “But I’m dead? How? What?”

The Fae double checked on the book they brought. “The book of life allows your return. It’s on you to decide what to do next.”

“Who are you, by the way? Are you the one who put me here?”

“Just someone taking care of this shelter. People come and go sometimes. Now leave.”

And the archive disappeared. Etaoin was left at a dusty altar with her bundle of letters, in front of her was a freshly made bouquet.

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