Gwendeline
Legacy Name: Gwendeline

A breeze stirs the warm summer air of Monday morning. Despite the beautiful & pleasant weather outside, the streets are empty. Almost every merchant has abandoned their commerce, leaving the main street to its own fate.

Between two buildings worn by age and neglect stands Gwendeline's little coffee shop with a bright red door that contrasts its lifeless surroundings. A few chairs and brightly hand-painted garden tables adorn the shop's small patio, and their vibrant colors --- like the door --- seem out of place. Gwendeline is already preparing for her first customers, carefully dusting off the top of the counter while keeping an eye on the shop window. With her work done, she sits and lets her fingers dance against the cup of coffee she is quietly sipping. Her attention though is focused on a pile of sheets stacked neatly on a countertop in a corner.

She knows the words scrawled neatly on the pages: hazel, strawberry, mint, chocolate, raspberry, coffee, rose, lavender, lemon, red wine. Each word on those pages is the flavor of a specialized coffee she created in the past. Her list has grown to a page count rivaling a phone book. As she looks over every page, she murmurs the flavors to herself, only pausing occasionally to glance over at the very still front door. There is not a single soul yet though, so she resumes the litany of her list.

What could be seconds or maybe hours pass before she reaches the final word on the list. At that moment, her murmur of the last flavor is covered by the bell that chimes delicately as a man pushes the shop door open. Gwendeline watches his movements wordlessly for a second before walking up to the man and placing her hand onto his shoulder. As expected, her hand passes through his shoulder like smoke against a wall. She shrugs and sits down once more to wait for the moment where she will become visible again. Sometimes it happens quickly and sometimes it is frustratingly gradual. Her frown is almost imperceptible as she resumes her seat.

The man who entered Gwendeline's shop is young, perhaps in his mid-twenties. Gwendeline surveys his features from his dark hair and puffy eyes to his average height. He's the type most people find charming. He scans the dimly lit room with an like he half expecting someone to show up for him despite having no basis for that feeling. Gwendeline follows his gaze, reading his, and thinks to herself that this one caught on fast.

As she thinks it, the man makes a connection: he is alone yet he doesn't want to be. So Gwendeline appears in front of him, smiling shyly as she hands him a cup filled with crystal clear water. With a hint of suspicion, the man extends an arm to grasp the cup. It is an old porcelain cup which bears a few shallow chips, but was made with undeniable craft. At the cup's bottom strings of gold form an intricate pattern. As soon as his fingertips touch the cup, the water begins to change color and the steam that curls upwards from the surface smells distinctly of apple. She knows this change signifies it is apples he likes most, and apples to which his happiest memories are attached. Nothing more needs be said.

Gwendeline takes a quill and adds apple to the bottom of her lengthy list. She takes the man's hand and leads him to the back of her shop where she points at a door, this time white. Leaving him to wonder at the door, she gives his hand a brief comforting squeeze before letting it go and returning to the front of her shop. Tears well in her eyes and she mourns yet another person who will be forgotten by this world. But she will not forget. She has not forgotten any of the thousands upon thousands of travelers who have found their peace in her shop because in her list she holds a small part, the happiest part, of them. Hazel; Strawberry; Mint; Chocolate; Raspberry; Coffee; Rose; Lavender; Lemon; Red wine; and now Apple.

No, she will not forget. This is the only thing she can do to commermorate those people - remember what made their happiness as they walk through the unknown realms of their afterlife. Maybe one day, she will be allowed to cross through that white door as well. After several hundred years of keeping her list, she wishes she could pass on and be remembered without having to remember anymore.

Gwendeline closes her eyes briefly. Blueberries. She loves blueberries. One day, someone will know this, too. And they will remember for her.

Credits
Story & profile by Cathii
overlay art by DataBunny ♥️
Story beta'd by pandemonium ♥️
Life saving coding help from Sorcerer ♥️