Katherine placed her hand gently on the trunk of the large horse chestnut tree. The bark was warm with sunlight, and felt crisp and coarse beneath her fingertips. This was an activity she had often enjoyed, both for the immediate physical sensation of the act, as well as for the giddy feeling of terror: the inescapable truth that one thing could be beholden to two opposing principles.

Nathan, who was not dissimilar from the oak, only more advanced in years, having seen more moons than an elder from the Order of Healers had suffered mortifications, walked up to her and made the a gesture with his hand that connoted affection and impatience. Kathrine smiled, and sighed, engulfing the signifier with her embrace. Arm in arm, as was their custom, they returned to their small bungalow.

The kettle was boiling, and Kathrine removed it from the heat. Meanwhile, Nathan, who was tired from his excursion, reclined, groaning, into an armchair; a favourite from long familiarity and wear. Kathrine poured the hot water into the cookpot, which exhaled the pleasant sour smell of soup. She removed the vase of flowers from the table and returned it to the mantelpiece alongside several companions in varying states of decay. Gifts from grateful people; the fruits of a lifetime of labour.

It was hard, then, for Kathrine to stare at the empty armchair, to stare at the superfluous bowl of soup, to recall to herself the funeral, the final words; to muster in that moment the soldiers that defended her mind from collapsing altogether: I will always love you; I would have died a long time ago without you; You are the best thing that has ever happened to me; You have so much left to give the world; Please live for me, love, while I still have my mind, promise me -

Kathrine gripped the countertop quietly, dabbing at her tears with a dishcloth. To live. What a proposition. Why was it always so difficult to live? To live with what she had done. To be this weary, every single day.

Later, Kathrine took her soup to the table, put on her reading glasses, and began to sort through the pile of letters from people asking for her help. She still had time. She still had work to do.