[Seasonal Event] What Must Be Done

Phoebe could tell her words weren’t reaching them. She knew this stage of grief well, having seen it time and time again with the families of clients who died, or mothers whose babies didn’t make it. Denial. It was, she thought, the most powerful of all human emotions. Denial created order in chaos, joy in despair, life in death – and if left unchecked twisted the sane to insanity. So she did the only thing she could do, exactly as she would with any of her clients experiencing such loss. She would wait for reality to hit him in the face, and would slowly coax him towards acceptance. There would be a lot in between there, but it was rarely a cut and dry process. Her nose wrinkled as they entered the house, the metallic smell hitting her nose unpleasantly. But she quickly schooled her features, reaching out to squeeze his hand briefly as he took in the scene in broad daylight now. He grabbed a bucket and handed it to her, clearly wanting to try and clean the mess. Phoebe knew that was a hopeless cause. The wood floors and paneled walls were beyond being cleaned, beyond being repaired, thoroughly soaked in the tacky red mess. But he needed to see it. He needed to try. So she nodded and took it, taking the bucket outside and filling it with cold water. She toddled back in, the bucket quite heavy now that it was filled. ”Where do you want to start?” she asked. Phoebe In a gentle way, you can shake the world