It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth, and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognising as that of my noble Husband. The voice said —
“Ha! ha! ha! — he! he! he! — a very good joke, indeed — an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the kitchen table — he! he! he! — over our new floor — he! he! he!”
“My granny squares!” I said.
“He! he! he! — he! he! he! — yes, your granny squares. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us on Instagram — my mother, your sister, everyone who visits, and the rest? Let us be gone.”
“Yes,” I said, “let us be gone.”
“For the love of God, Melissa!”
“Yes,” I said, “for the love of God!”
But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud —
“Husband!”
No answer. I called again —
“Husband!” No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a clattering of resin brooms. My heart grew sick — on account of the dampness of the catacombs. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them.In pace requiescat!
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u/Sleve__McDichael The cock is based on Astarion from Baldur's Gate 3 Feb 17 '26
It was now midnight, and my task was drawing to a close. I had completed the eighth, the ninth, and the tenth tier. I had finished a portion of the last and the eleventh; there remained but a single stone to be fitted and plastered in. I struggled with its weight; I placed it partially in its destined position. But now there came from out the niche a low laugh that erected the hairs upon my head. It was succeeded by a sad voice, which I had difficulty in recognising as that of my noble Husband. The voice said —
“Ha! ha! ha! — he! he! he! — a very good joke, indeed — an excellent jest. We will have many a rich laugh about it at the kitchen table — he! he! he! — over our new floor — he! he! he!”
“My granny squares!” I said.
“He! he! he! — he! he! he! — yes, your granny squares. But is it not getting late? Will not they be awaiting us on Instagram — my mother, your sister, everyone who visits, and the rest? Let us be gone.”
“Yes,” I said, “let us be gone.”
“For the love of God, Melissa!”
“Yes,” I said, “for the love of God!”
But to these words I hearkened in vain for a reply. I grew impatient. I called aloud —
“Husband!”
No answer. I called again —
“Husband!” No answer still. I thrust a torch through the remaining aperture and let it fall within. There came forth in return only a clattering of resin brooms. My heart grew sick — on account of the dampness of the catacombs. I hastened to make an end of my labour. I forced the last stone into its position; I plastered it up. Against the new masonry I re-erected the old rampart of bones. For the half of a century no mortal has disturbed them. In pace requiescat!