Death's Companion--Fiction

It's hard to watch your parents grow old, Carl thought. He sighed, and wiped the drool from his mother's chin. He moved her chair closer to the window, so she could see outside.  He stood next to her, his hand on her shoulder to keep her from slumping forward, and stared out the window.

"Mr. Smith?"

Carl turned, transfixed.  A young woman stood before him. Her eyes were an intense shade of blue, her hair black as pitch.  Her skin was pale, almost white, as though she were an animated corpse or made of a fine china.  He managed to nod.

"I am Elise Canter." She smiled politely. "The agency selected me to be a companion to your mother on her journey,"

"Aren't you--damn!" Carl stared at Elise. "You're awfully young. I thought the agency would send someone older."

"There was no one else available, sir. Will I suffice?"

Carl bit his lip. He looked at his mother, a trail of drool making its way down her front.  Young or not, his mother would be unable to go on her own, and he had promised her a companion.

"Yes."

"The priests are coming." Carl moved a chair from the hallway and placed it next to his mother's chair.  He picked up the knife from the tray table next to her bed. Elise sat in the chair offered by Carl, and took the hand of her charge.  She looked up at Carl, leaning back to expose her throat.

"It is so," Carl fell easily into the formal language of the old country, and picked up the knife.  "Elise Canter, I bind your soul to the soul of my mother, Alexandra Clifton Smith.  You are to be her companion in death, and have agreed to serve her faithfully.  Is this so?"

"It is so. I will be faithful." Elise closed her eyes, but Carl winced as the blade cut into that fine white skin.



The prompt is the third definition of COMPANION.