text: Vida appeared at my side.
  
  Mira also appeared, an angelic sword in her hands and tall, white wings that flittered behind her.
  
  Oberon readied his scythe and I said, "I don't have a weapon."
  
  Vida quickly waved her hand about, formed a sword's handle with vines. She plucked a feather from Mira's wings, which turned into a diamond.
  
  She formed the diamond into a sharp blade between her palms and placed it into the viney handle, gave it to me.
  
  "I do not possess the ability to kill," Vida told me. "But that doesn't mean I can't form a deadly, zombie killing weapon here and there."
  
  Where did you learn how to do that? Oberon inquired.
  
  She smiled at me, pressed a kiss into her hands and blew it at us.
  
  The sword was sturdy yet lightweight, perfect for me to wield.
  
  So there I stood. Between Mira and Oberon, each of us armed with our own zombie-killing weapon. It was like the climax of a story.
  
  And from the darkness crept soul zombies, intent on stealing my soul for their own.
  
  They looked like the one Oberon had killed in my house. Tall and gangly, dressed in what they had been buried in, now tattered and stained. They had wounds that dripped with blood. And in those glowing white eyes, all the souls of which they had stolen beckoned to be set free.
  
  Mira and Oberon stepped forward, raised their weapons and began slicing through these zombies.
  
  I quickly followed suit and it was exhilirating.
  
  I hadn't felt this alive since I had lost you, Zita. It seemed all my toiling and weeping and writing came to fruition as I severed an undead man's head from the rest of his body and it fell to the ground with a thump before vanishing.
  
  I also almost heaved and remembered to hold my breath.
  
  When a blade struck a zombie and killed it, souls seeped from its eyes, flew into the air in a majestic dance. They were as glittering and stunning as Mira. And she released them with her sword as Oberon severed them with his scythe.
  
  The blade Vida had given me released souls from the zombie, and Oberon was intense and quick with his scythe to sever them all.
  
  I heard a zombie groan from behind me.
  
  > shatter the jar of biscuits
  Oberon said, I did not touch it, as the biscuit jar fell to the floor and shattered. Although he was quick to save the biscuits from the shards.
  
  He said, Now that these biscuits no longer have a home, not to mention, they have touched the floor, is alright if I have them, Miss Vedaldi?
  
  I stuttered, "I'm having very intense déjà vu. But yes, I suppose."
  
  Oberon seemed to liven up at the prospect of biscuits. He munched on them and it was peculiar.
  
  This was all peculiar.
  
  Vida was asleep on the sofa and Oberon gazed across my knick-knacks on the fireplace mantle.
  
  There was still a stain of the zombie man left on the floor that I would either have to scrub away or find a larger rug to mask.
  
  And then there was a knock on the door.
  
  I looked at Oberon and Oberon looked at me and I sighed and got it myself.
  
  Alyda was at the door, a bright smile on her face.
  
  Standing beside her was the lovely, stunning, incredible and incredibly intelligent Zita Dacosta.
  
  "Hello beautiful," you told me.
  
  I was quick to embrace you and it was a good thing you no longer needed to breath because I squeezed you so tightly I could have killed you myself.
  
  Alyda fanned her face as we kissed and we all stepped inside.
  
  Oberon said, You look alive.
  
  You laughed and said, "Thank you."
  
  Vida woke up with a startle and her eyes widened at you. She lept to her feet and took your hands in her own. Flowers bloomed in your palms as she cheered, "Oh Miss Zita, look at you! You're so beautiful! No wonder Cynthia loves you so much."
  
  "I concur," Alyda added. "Nothing a little powder can't mask."
  
  But you turned to me and put an arm on my shoulder. And suddenly my heart sank as I anticipated your words.
  
  > say "I'm off to Heaven."
  Cynthia bit her lip and tears began to flood her face.
  
  You gently touched that face that had turned cherry red in a matter of seconds.
  
  "Don't cry, Cynthia," you told her. "You will see me again in time."
  
  "I can't wait," she said.
  
  You broke into a solemn smile.
  
  "You've got Vida and Oberon and maybe Alyda," you said.
  
  "But I wouldn't have you," Cynthia said. But she clasped her hand over yours and added, "But I'll wait. This isn't about me. It never was."
  
  "Thank you so much, Cynthia," you tell her.
  
  "I love you, Zita Dacosta. To Heaven and back."
  
  > Kiss Cynthia
  My darling Zita Dacosta,
  
  Without you, the world seems so dull and devoid of life. Or rather, my life is now so dull and devoid. . .
  
  It was one letter I managed to save from the pile. A testament to the journey I had been through.
  
  I scratched out those words and began again.
  
  My darling Zita Dacosta,
  
  Without you life is pointless. But it seems I have found as least some silver lining to your death. I think you would be proud of me.
  
  Vida visits often and brings me flowers and shows off a young woman named Bunni of whom she is quite infatuated with. They kind of remind me of you and I, like younger, smarter versions of you and I.
  
  It has been three months since you and I parted for certain, Zita. The electricity in the house is steady and normal and I no longer have to clean up shattered bottles and overturned books.
  
  Vida told me Mira managed to find and free all the souls which had been affected by the matter.
  
  In other words, there are no more soul-sucking zombies running about. But I am still unsure if there are no more young women who have lost the loves of their lives and feel haunted like me.
  
  I wish I could tell each and every one of them about Oberon and Vida, about the Gods' wonders and powers and the fact there is something beyond that eternal darkness we all fear.
  
  In my case, it is a woman named Zita Dacosta, who, let's face it, did far more to help herself than I could have, or did, who is waiting for me at those pearly gates.
  
  Although I'm keen to believe perhaps those gates are not even pearly. Perhaps they are steel. Steel holds up over time.
  
  And like steel I hope your love for me holds up over time. But I suppose I couldn't blame you if you had a fling with a dead president or a famous actress. I wonder who is up there anyway, and have you kissed your grandmother for me?
  
  I keep you in my obsessive thoughts, Zita.
  
  Your dearest,
  
  Cynthia Vedaldi
  
  P.S. Oberon says Hello, and that your biscuit recipe is the best he has ever had.
  
  End