Anniversary

While the Land of the Remembered held fiestas and parties on a daily basis, this day a particularly grand fiesta was taking place. It was October 7, a few weeks away from Day of the Dead, though no one understood why La Muerte had made that day a festive day, still no one protested. Today, everyone out in the streets, dancing either alone or in pairs, children were playing, even the animals had joined the celebration. A great parade was held at the Main Avenue, where families with long bloodlines dating from far back often paraded. It was so colorful and vivacious one would have to be incredibly indisposed to miss such a fiesta.

Unfortunately, this was Xibalba's case.

He watched glumly and cheerlessly at the street below from the shadows in La Muerte's balcony with his hands behind his back, his wings pressed close to his body. Marigold had gone with Carmen and Carlos to the marketplace to see what they were selling for this occasion, so she wouldn't be back until later; she had tried to convince him to accompany them, but he told her he had work to do. He was not in the mood to join in (he never was, actually), besides, knowing those pathetic whelps they would all scramble inside their homes if they caught sight of him, which still irritated him to no end. He might look scary, but he was not that bad! At least not when those spirits knew their place.

It had been three long years since her passing, but to him it felt-it would always feel- like yesterday. Being here was no longer the enjoyable experience it used to be before she left this world, not it was a complete Hell masquerading as a festive, colorful place; everywhere he looked, he was reminded of La Muerte no matter what he tried to do to drift his thoughts elsewhere. He could see her down at the street, blessing her subjects with her company, dancing playfully with the crowd, brightening everyone's spirits with her smile.

But today was especially painful, and Xibalba felt pangs of hurt and nostalgia in with every heartbeat as he watched the couples dancing; they seemed so happy together… it made him recall all the times he and his wife had danced together, the first time when they were in their teens, at a ball held by Quetzalcóatl in Aztlan. Then there was the day of their wedding, when they danced as husband and wife for the first time. Tonight, however, he was alone, watching as couples below danced together. He didn't want to say he envied those men because they would have their wives for the rest of eternity (unless they were sent to his realm), but he had no other say to express it.

Unable to bear the sight any longer, Xibalba made his way back inside La Muerte's chambers, closing the crystal doors behind him, though he was quick to regret this decision. Now he was right into what had been their little love nest, where he lost her when she brought their daughter into the world (he no longer blamed Marigold for this, though), and so it was an even worse torment of bittersweet memories in here. Especially today. What day was it, one would ask, that such a grand party was held and made Xibalba feel horribly sore and nostalgic?

The day they got married.

For the past three years this day became a torture for him, when the memories of La Muerte overwhelmed him and made his heart crack with sorrow more and more, until he was certain there would be nothing left for it. He had loved her so… she made him feel complete, and now that she was gone he was alone. Xibalba could have banned the celebration if he wanted to, but he didn't dare, he thought it would be like defiling La Muerte's wish that their day was a special one, which is why he left it the way it was.

Xibalba recalled their anniversaries before her death, particularly the first they ever had. It was when he gave her the pendant she always wore from that day onwards, he still remembered dearly the look of wonder and surprise on her face when he first tied it around her neck. She, in turn, gave him his bathrobe and puffy slippers (which he loved). Other times, he would compose a song for her in his organ, but what matter was not the gifts they gave to each other, but rather the rekindling of their love.

Sighing sadly, Xibalba glided closer to the hat stand where La Muerte's sombrero still lay resting, it hadn't been moved an inch from where it had been put. There wasn't a single speck of dust on it either, for it was carefully dusted every day by the servants who also came to dust the chambers, keeping it intact as a way to honor the memory of their beloved Queen. He hesitated, but eventually he lifted a trembling hand and ran it over the sombrero yearningly, recalling the first time he saw her wearing it; he had laughed at it and said it was ridiculously week, and La Muerte gave him the silent treatment for a week fir it. He would have laughed at the memory was he not so emotionally dull for the moment.

While La Muerte was dead, this did not mean he forgot about their anniversaries. No. As long as he lived, Xibalba would always remember this day for the rest of his existence, as much as it killed him.

Just as he had done this morning…

He awoke before Marigold did.

She had gone to his room at night after she had a bad dream, and asked if she could sleep with him; and how could he ever deny her that? Right now she was still asleep, but he managed to stand from bed without her noticing, and covered her with the warm thick blanket once more, stroking her head with his hand gingerly.

Xibalba glided out of his chambers silently, heading towards La Muerte's sanctuary swiftly. Snapping his fingers, he summoned a fresh bouquet of bright red roses, and yellow-orange marigolds tied with a black ribbon by the time he was in front of the doors. Making sure there was no one around (and that Marigold hadn't followed him, as she constantly did), Xibalba turned the knob on the door and walked inside, closing it behind him.

La Muerte's body was still intact to the passage of time, she lay still on the pedestal, surrounded by candles and flowers, still smiling. She still smelt of marigolds and roses. Xibalba felt a squirming in his heart as he approached the pedestal where his wife's body lay resting, and stroked her cheek with his thumb like he was touching a flower. Her skin was cold like the coldest iceberg.

At the edge of the pedestal, just above of La Muerte's head, was a small crystal vase with a bouquet of long-withered flowers, last year's batch. Xibalba removed the lot of dead flowers and placed the fresh ones in the vase to replace them, before snapping his fingers and making the withered bouquet disappear to some forgotten corner of his realm where they would turn to ash.

"Feliz aniversario, mi amor." The dark god spoke softly, bowing down and kissing La Muete's forehead gently. "How have you been doing?"

No reply.

"I guessed so, my dear. Things have been a bit more interesting with our little Marigold running around the castle and making antics." Xibalba couldn't help but chuckle at this. "I wish you could see how fast she's growing up…" when he felt his eyes tearing up, he knew he had to get out before his heartache overwhelmed him yet again. "I… See you later, mi corazón."

Xibalba glided out of the room just as his eyes swelled up with tears, but he blinked them away; now was not the time to cry. Much to his surprise (and dismay), when he opened the door to go out he found himself staring down at Marigold's glossy eyes; she was clutching unto Rattles tightly and rubbing her eyes.

"M-Marigold! Is something wrong?" he blurted out as he quickly closed the door behind him without giving her a chance to take a peek inside.

"I had a bad dream again, papi…" she sobbed, yawning and rubbing her teary eyes.

Xibalba bent down and picked her up, holding her close to him. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Marigold shook her head and started to sob, burying her face into Rattles and snuggled deeply into her father's embrace.

"Shhh… Aquí estoy, mi florecita." Xibalba proceeded to carefully wrap Marigold's wings around her body, swaddling her up like when she was a baby. "Never forget I'll always be there for you, mi pequeña."

Marigold's sobs diminished as she rested her head against her father's chest, soothed by his heartbeat. But she let out a whimper when she recalled what she had dreamt about. Xibalba took notice of this. "…Would you like me to tell you a story?" he inquired.

Marigold nodded her head slowly, still hiding her face into Rattles. Xibalba started thinking about which story to tell her. "How about the one about the sun and the moon?"

He couldn't do anything as his eyes started swelling up with tears. Every year he'd go into her sanctuary and leave her a bouquet of her favorite flowers, the most fresh he could find; one time he even took a bottle of their favorite wine to her. He didn't know why he bothered, if she wouldn't be able to drink it, anyway, but he thought that maybe she'd like the detail from wherever she was now.

Xibalba's back came into contact against the wall as he silently started to sob, taking a hand to cover his eyes as if to stop the flowing tears, but it was not working. No matter what he did this place would always bring him memories about La Muerte, memories about all of their times together, both good and bad, but the worst of everything was that the whole, damn realm had her very presence still lingering. He couldn't bear it, he immediately regretted coming here.

To think he had been so obsessed with ruling this place. And now that he had it, it just didn't feel right, it just wasn't the same without his Muertita, and he did not want it if he could not have her by his side. What once had been a paradise had become a complete hell, a burden he could not get rid of, as much as he'd like to. La Muerte was dead, and the Land of the Remembered needed a ruler, in this case it had fallen unto him, as much as he hated it. He was bound and gagged to this place, to this torment of his heart for as long as he lived.

"Papi?"

Xibalba was startled by Marigold's voice, and he quickly blocked her view with his wing as he wiped his tears away. She did notice something was wrong with him, however.

"Are you crying, papi?"

"N-No, mi florecita, I'm fine…" he lied, trying his best to keep his eyes dry in front of her. "I just got something in my eyes, that's all…"

Marigold could tell that something was making him sad, however, though she could also tell that he didn't want to talk about it. She didn't like to see him sad. She recalled the times she'd cry, and he would comfort her every time; maybe she should return the favor now. Marigold searched in the pocket of her red dress, and she held up a fresh churro to her father. Xibalba looked down at her in surprise.

"I was saving this for later, but you can have it, papi." Marigold said, smiling a bit. "But please don't cry, it makes me sad."

Moved by this gesture, Xibalba smiled at his daughter as he kneeled down and pulled her into an embrace, wrapping his wings around her. Marigold returned the hug, wrapping her arms around his neck and resting her head against his chest. Just then, there was a knock on the door.

"Excuse me, Majesty…" one of the maids working there trembled when the dark god gave her a questioning look. "Someone wishes to have an audience with you…"

Oh, for goodness sake! Couldn't he have a simple moment of peace with his daughter? Unfortunately, duties were duties. Xibalba stood up and ruffled Marigold's hair playfully, giving her an apologetic look. "Sorry, mi florecita. You can give it to me later, okay?"

Marigold nodded, understanding.

Xibalba flew out of his late wife's chambers, and headed towards the throne room.

The throne room was connected with the ballroom, and on this day it was especially crowded. Hungry people who wanted a snack surrounded the food tables, and people danced in the ballroom, either alone or in couples, just like outside. They were having so much fun none of them were bothered by Xibalba's presence when he came in; actually, they were starting to warm up to him to some extent. He wanted to get this over with so he could go back to his daughter. In the throne room, just a few meters away from La Muerte's throne, was a newly-arrived spirit, an old man; the man started to tremble when Xibalba stopped a few steps in front of him with his hands behind his back, glancing down at him with an unamused expression. Still the old man managed to give his King the correspondent bow; Xibalba nodded, this man knew his place.

"I hear you wanted an audience with me?" he inquired, his tone cold, formal and one might have even said irritated.

"Y-Yes, M-Majesty…"

"Let me guess, you're looking for your family and you want me to help you."

"W-Well, My Lord, actually I'm looking for someone else…"

"Who, if I may know?"

"I… It's just… Well, I've been…"

Xibalba started to lose his patience. "Speak up."

"I'm looking for my wife!"

There was an expression of utter surprise and bewilderment on Xibalba's face when those words left the old man's mouth. "Qué?"

"My beloved Julia passed long before I did. I waited for a long time to join her in death, remembering and cherishing all of our times together, hoping that I may see her again. Now that I'm finally dead, I was hoping you could assist me in searching for my amada."

Xibalba was looking down at the old man solemnly, with his heart in his throat. Deep down he couldn't help but sympathize a bit with this man, as much as he disliked admitting it to himself. They were in a similar position, having lost their wives and spent years of pain and sorrow for their absence, but it didn't look like this old man any children while in life (they must have had at least living relatives that remembered them if they were both here, however).

Xibalba could have sent the man to the Elder Council like he did with everybody else, but there was just something about the old man that moved him; he sounded sincerely sad about his wife, and that bothered him. It was like he didn't want him to go through the same hell as he himself any longer. He could imagine what La Muerte would have done; she would have helped this man without doubting, she would smile with happiness and satisfaction when he reunited with his beloved.

"What is your name?" he inquired, his voice serious, but uncharacteristically gentle.

"E-Eduardo Greco, My Lord."

"How's your wife like, if I may know?"

"She's the most beautiful woman in the whole world, with hair as blonde like the sunlight, and a smile that could melt anyone's heart."

"I see…"

Suddenly, the doors opened, and an old woman walked inside, with blonde hair and wearing a yellow dress; as soon as she and the old man caught sight of each other, their eyes lit up with joy.

"Eduardo!" the woman was the first to react, running towards her husband with open arms.

"Julia!" the man named Eduardo ran towards his wife, and he lifted her off the ground to twirl around, before they joined their lips in a kiss. "I'm so glad to see you, my love!"

Julia was so happy she was shedding tears of joy as she hugged her husband. "I missed you so much, Eduardo! I thought I'd never see you again!"

"What matters now is that we're together, forever!" Eduardo lifted his wife into his arms. "Come, my love! Our lives will start anew!"

Before they left, Eduardo gave his King a thankful look. Xibalba merely nodded his head slightly, the corners of his lips curving into a small smile almost invisibly. As the dark god watched the happily reunited couple go and join the festivities, he couldn't help but feel a fuzzy, warm feeling in his chest. Maybe it was how La Muerte felt everytime she had helped reunite family members; he found he liked it. Not that he would admit this to anyone, however.

"Not so bad, verdad?"

Xibalba grunted in annoyance at Carmen's voice. "Aren't you supposed to be with Carlitos?" he grumbled.

Carmen rolled her eyes at the dark god. "If you don't like dealing with 'peasants', why did you help him instead of sending him to the Elders as always?"

"He was an exceptional case."

"Why?"

"I don't have to give you an explanation."

Carmen rolled her eyes yet again, but there was a small grin on her lips. She had the feeling of why he had decided to help that man in particular, but she felt it would be wise not to press the matter. Xibalba felt relieved when she walked away in search of her husband Carlos, and continued to watch the celebration. In the snack table, he spotted his little Marigold trying to grab as many churros as she could; Xibalba chuckled as he walked towards the table, sneaking from behind her.

As soon as he tapped her shoulder with a claw, she jumped and barely managed to keep all her churros in her arms. She turned around to look up at her father, her wings wrapping around her churros protectively.

"Don't you think those are too few, mi florecita?" Xibalba chuckled, ruffling Marigold's hair playfully.

"Sorry, papi…" Marigold apologized, looking down.

Xibalba smiled as he leaned down on one knee and took his daughter by the shoulders, lifting up her chin with a finger so he could look into her eyes. "You don't have to apologize, Marigold. I'm quite obsessive with churros too, but you shouldn't eat so many. You have to eat more vegetables."

Marigold stuck her tongue. "Yuck."

"I know vegetables are not… tasty, but you need to eat more healthy food, you're at a sensitive age. You don't want to be as short as grandma Sánchez, do you?"

"No!"

"Then how about we leave those churros for a while and go look for a few vegetables."

While reluctant to leave her stack of churros, Marigold complied and placed them back on the table with a pout, making Xibalba chuckle softly as he stood back up.

The band started playing another song, but this was not as lively and rhythmic as the previous ones. This was a soft, slow and elegant, a waltz from Europe. Immediately, the dance floor was cleared, except for married pairs who started dancing with each other to rekindle their love, Julia and Eduardo between them. Xibalba glanced at the scene sadly, recalling when he used to waltz with La Muerte in the hallowed halls of Aztlan or in this very ballroom, lost in each other's eyes, intertwining their bodies close to each other as they danced. Xibalba felt Marigold's little fingers clutching at his cloak; looking down, he noticed she was staring at the dancing couples with wonder and curiosity.

"What are they doing, papi?" she inquired, her eyes lit up at the beautiful scene.

"It's called waltz, Marigold, it is a progressive dance from way back. It is usually danced in pairs." Xibalba explained.

"Have you ever danced valtz?"

The dark god chuckled and ruffled his daughter's hair. "Waltz, sweetie. And yes, I used to dance with…" he stopped in mid-sentence.

"With who, papi?"

"… with a friend."

Marigold glanced back at the dance floor; Xibalba read the expression on her face. She had always been the romantic type (he hoped with all his might this would fade away as she grew), as soon as she learned to read she'd always read romantic fairytales with the prince and the princess living happily ever after at the end.

Smiling, Xibalba bent down and held out his hand for her. "Would you grant me this piece, señorita?"

Marigold's eyes lit up and she nodded in excitement as she grabbed her father's hand. "Sí, papi."

He led her to the dance floor, before picking her up and holding her in one arm, holding her hand with his other hand, while she placed her free hand unto his shoulder. Their eyes were locked as they danced, until Marigold rested her head against her father's chest and closed her eyes, smiling dreamily.

"Te quiero, papi."

How happy she made him everytime she spoke those words, everytime she snuggled into his embrace looking for his warmth. Just like her mother had once done back in their more innocent days. He hadn't really noticed, but Marigold was like her mother in many ways, not only physically but in her personality as well, at least in her childhood. Her innocence, her purity, her capacity of love, everything had been passed down unto Marigold; alas, she was not perfect, nobody was. He had unfortunately passed some of his own traits unto her as well; his stubbornness, mischievousness, eyes… But he loved her anyway; he wouldn't change anything about her.

He remembered the many gifts she had given him. Her first smile when she was but a few days old, her first word when she was five months old (after days of attempting to make her say 'papa', he was bewildered when she instead called him 'bawby'), her first steps at one year old, and many other experiences he shared with her, like how she'd fall asleep on his wing while he was reading on top of his bed, or when sometimes he'd wake up in the morning to find his pequeña snuggled against his body.

Xibalba planted a kiss on his daughter's head, pulling her closer. "Yo también te quiero, mi florecita."

Perhaps this day wasn't such a calvary at all.