Be my widow

"Be my widow," he uttered, catching me off guard, causing me to almost drop the urn containing the ashes.

"Pardon?" I stammered, taken aback by his unexpected proposal.

He knelt before me, clasping my hand. "Marjari Shitara, you are the most exquisite woman I've ever encountered. Please, do me the honor of being my widow."

And thus, I met Alon Noah, scion of the esteemed Forbidden Artefactor family, a golden figure among men.

________________________________________

Two hours earlier.

"Thank you, Mr. Isuzu. Your wife will soon be able to return to her home and admire her beloved garden from the window," I said with a respectful bow.

The elderly Japanese man smiled gratefully. "I entrust her care to your skill, Mistress Shitara. I shall eagerly await your presence at Flower Lane for my Night Diner."

"Of course," I nodded. "I shall return tomorrow night. Everything will be prepared."

After a few more courteous exchanges, one of the finest chefs in all of border Shawasaki departed from my abode.

I stood there for a moment, watching him leave, noting the elegance with which he and his late wife had carried themselves. Now, she had embarked upon her final journey to the Crystal Palaces of the Cloud Islands.

A warm, furry sensation brushed against my leg.

"Meow," it murmured, as if to convey that all else could wait.

With a sigh, I scooped up the cat.

"Meow!" it protested.

"Issac, please, mind your manners. Our guest has departed," I chided.

"F-f-furr!"

"Issac!"

"And I am merely expressing my hunger," the cat retorted unabashedly. "It is a flagrant breach of etiquette to intrude upon a conversation when one's stomach rumbles too loudly."

I chuckled, carrying the feline companion into the kitchen and setting a bowl of food before him. His attempt to engage in further discourse was promptly replaced by contented slurps.

Yes, fate had bestowed upon me a talking black cat, ever eager to impart his wisdom on proper conduct.

However, at thirty-two years of age, I deemed it a tad belated for lessons in decorum.

Nevertheless, it was time to address the matter at hand.

I drummed my fingers upon the desk. The evening was serene, the night clear. I could retire to my chamber and work on enchanting the urn for Isuzu-sama. Tomorrow, I would review all the necessary points once more. Excellent.

Meanwhile, the paper lanterns outside flickered to life. Soon, my restless neighbors would embark upon their evening strolls, leaving the house in tranquil solitude. Not that I begrudged Mrs. Beth-Shalom's penchant for summoning demons for supper, or Mr. Kurigawa's nightly encounters with yokai. To each their own, but moderation is key.

With purpose, I made my way to the study. The room was dimly lit, permeated with the scent of incense, resin, and ashes—a familiar ambiance where death and necromancy intersected.

Allow me to reintroduce myself: Marjari Shitara of the Black Necromancer lineage, adept in the art of Rebirth, attaining the rank of Master Shihotori—a woman of independence. A respected denizen of Shawasaki for fifteen years, honored with commendation from the Mayor.

My vocation: to imbue urns with enchantments, allowing the spirits of the departed to briefly commune with their loved ones.

In this era where the gods have forsaken this realm, the boundary between life and death has grown thin. Thus, death no longer holds the same dread it once did. True grief only arises when a loved one departs permanently. If they return momentarily to share a meal, it is not grief but merely the need to cook more.

Hence, my clientele remained ample. In Shawasaki, familial bonds endured, ensuring that none were left unattended, be it in this realm or the Cloud Islands.

I glanced at the urns on the top shelf. Mrs. Anoriko Isuzu was a woman of grace and charm, with a fondness for flowers and songbirds. I resolved to fashion something delicate and elegant for her.

"Very well, Mrs. Isuzu, let us proceed," I murmured with a smile. "I shall endeavor to meet your expectations, as always."

The Isuzu family had long been acquaintances of mine. Their Night Diner stood as one of the city's most enchanting locales. It was not merely a duty I fulfilled, but a token of friendship I wished to extend.

Exiting the room, I whistled a tune about a mischievous kitsune who captivated a stalwart sword master, eventually becoming his paramour.

A sudden knock interrupted my reverie.

"Enter!" I called out, gesturing with a sweep of my hand as the lock clicked open.

In the doorway stood Bai-ze, the horned chimera lion from Japona, a stalwart guardian and steward of the household for over half a century.

"Marge, were we expecting visitors?" he inquired in a hushed tone.

I arched an eyebrow. "Aside from Mr. Isuzu, no. I am occupied with work today."

"And the fewer individuals present, the better," he added.

"And the fewer people around me now, the better," I thought to myself.

Bai-ze's six yellow eyes widened in bewilderment. "But Mr. Noah..."

"He's already here," came the stranger's mesmerizingly handsome voice.

Bai-ze was skillfully pushed back, despite his considerable weight. The poor creature could only stare, stunned, as a tall, handsome blond man in a blue suit appeared on my doorstep.

I regarded him with interest.