After the funeral, once he was buried and gone, she, still in widow’s garb, trudged back up the hill, forsaking relations and the comfort they offered, to seal herself within the mansion the two of them once shared.
It’s said that she’s up there still, in her mourning gown, gazing from her window down upon an unsuspecting township, lost in self-imposed isolation, long since mad with grief…
…or maybe she’s dead.
In fact, so far as I can tell we haven’t delivered food up there in nearly a year. She’s probably dead.
We really ought to send somebody to check.