what remains of celeste

Adeline attended the local college, taking over her family’s tannery.

When Celeste returned, matured and radiant, the two embraced—tears mingling with laughter as they exchanged the stories of their separate lives. Deep down Adeline would somewhat feel distant. She has been feeling this ever since she found that bag rotting away in garbage.

After her return, Celeste is more mature, elegant, confident — but Adeline notices a distance. Celeste talks about leaving again. Her stay was only temporary. She has offers abroad. A life to live.

Adeline, though outwardly happy, starts to spiral inside. She’s losing her again. Little by little she understood this time Celeste was really going for good. 

One day, Celeste brings it up gently:

“You’re meant for great things, Adeline. Bigger than this town. You always were.”

 Celeste leaves.

The letter came on a Tuesday. Sealed with Celeste’s wax crest — a blooming apple tree, just like the orchard where they first met.

Adeline held it for a full hour before opening it. She knew, somehow, that it was the end.

“My dearest Adeline, I will always treasure the girl with whom i shared apples, laughter, and her only bed when I had no reason to leave mine. But we must grow. I must go. There are roads I must walk alone, and burdens I do not wish to place on you. I will never forget you.”

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t cold. But it burned.

Adeline didn’t cry. She simply folded the letter, lit it with her tannery fire, and turned back to work. She scrubbed the hides harder that night. Her hands bled. She didn’t stop.

Two weeks later, news came from the manor: Celeste was dead. A runaway car. Her body crushed beneath the wheels. Closed casket. No viewing. The villagers mourned. Adeline didn’t

The cause of Celeste’s death was cloaked in whispers—unresolved, uncanny. No clean diagnosis. No clear answer. Just silence, and a body far too still for someone who had once danced through life like sunlight breaking through trees.

Adeline hadn’t wept at the funeral. She sat among mourners like a carved statue, her expression unreadable, her eyes dry—but burning.

It was only after the soil had swallowed the last rose and the mourners had faded like ghosts into the mist that the letter came.

A simple envelope. No embellishments. Just her name, written in Celeste’s hand, trembling and rushed, as if each word had fought against time to reach her.

She opened it with hands she barely felt.

 Adeline,

If you’re reading this… then something has happened. I’m sorry. I should have said it before, but I didn’t want to burden you.

The bag—

I never threw it away. I would never. Mother did it… behind my back. She thought it was unbecoming. Ugly. Not fit for me. I only found out the night before I left. I tried to search for it everywhere but mom never told me where she threw it.  I was going to tell you in person, but I couldn't bring myself to. I thought we’d have time. I thought I could make it up to you.

I’m scared, Adeline.

I feel something’s wrong with me. Inside. Something hollow. Like something is already gone.

I don’t know how to say this, but I don’t think I’m going to live much longer. I don't feel like living anymore 

I don’t know why.

I just... feel it.

Forgive me.

Adeline read it once. Then again. Then again.

The words didn’t settle. They swirled like ash in her chest. The truth crushed her and lifted her all at once—Celeste hadn’t thrown the bag away. She’d never stopped loving it. Never stopped loving her.

But the apology was a ghost arriving too late. And her fear of death?

It hadn't been imagined.

It had been felt.

A premonition written in ink and sent into the world, too late to change anything.

She visited the orchard the next night.

And the night after.

On the third night, she returned to the manor’s private graveyard.

She carried her tools.

Days Later 

No one noticed the smell in the tannery — they were used to it. No one noticed Adeline no longer spoke. Her hands moved with new purpose. The skin she worked with was finer than any she had seen. Luminous. Delicate. Warm.

She was gentle with it.

Like she was dressing a friend for her last dance.

She worked alone. No apprentices. No interruptions. Every stitch was perfect. The scent — fresh, alive, floral and sweet, like the orchard in spring.

When the bag was done, she placed it in a silk-lined box. Then locked it away.

Not for sale.

Not for show.

Just for her.

Present Day 

As the rotting smell fills the office and maggots scatter like secrets escaping the past, Adeline stands over the bag — the first one — and whispers:

“You said you’d never forget me. But I made sure the world never would forget you.”

Then silence.

Unbeknownst to herself, Adeline had placed the bag into the shipment during one of her “episodes.”

Haunted by guilt and grief, she suffers from blackouts—moments where her mind fractures and someone else inside her takes control. A version of her that no longer believes she deserves to keep Celeste. A version that lets go.

She has no memory of doing it. Not until she sees the bag again, crawling with maggots.

“Maybe it was me. Maybe I wanted her to be seen… even in death.”

To be continued.....