A Stack of Paper

A Stack of Paper

(First sheet: written in bold, sweeping strokes) To Koche, One of my family members came to apologize. In theory, I really should've held my ground. But guess what? He showed up with my newborn grandson! So... I'm leaving the sanatorium. The burial plot and headstone I bought? They're yours now. No, you can't refuse. I've already settled everything with the lector here. Every inch of that plot is yours. Good thing the headstone hasn't been engraved yet — it's a deluxe model, mind you. You should find a photo of yourself looking particularly dashing and put that on there. A hundred years from now, let's find each other again in the wandering winds of Mondstadt. ...Actually, never mind all that. I'm getting out of here, and you're bound to recover soon enough. I'll see you at the tavern down the mountain, then. — Bauer, six feet tall and sixty-eight years young (Second sheet: written in a different hand) To my fellow patients at the sanatorium, Let us all congratulate Old Bauer on finally making peace with his family. The old man went to great lengths to prove that he was done with them. He even dropped a fortune on a burial plot right here in the sanatorium. Now, maybe there was a genuine shred of resolve behind that decision. Personally, though, I'm chalking it up to a moment of madness — a cocktail of heat-of-the-moment brain fog, dementia, and a sprinkle of old-age paranoia. (And I don't mean to make light of dementia. It is a heavy burden that many of our fellow residents carry, a serious condition that deserves our attention and care. Do take good care of the elders in your families.) Now that he's made peace with his kin, he's gone and signed the grave over to me. But I don't want it! It's morbid as hell! I doubt any of you want it either... A grave is a pretty cursed "gift" to be lugging around! Since my lungs should be fully treated soon and I'll be heading down the mountain any day now, I'm officially releasing my claim on that plot and headstone. First-come, first-served. No, that came out wrong. If anyone happens to need it... No. That's even worse. You get the point. To my companions in recovery, come find me for a drink when you're well again. — Koche, who's changing careers and never stepping foot in the mines again once he's out of here (Third sheet: written in yet another hand) To my fellow patients at the sanatorium, Tombstone carving has been my family's trade for generations. Whether it's Liyue style, Mondstadt style, or Inazuman Sotoba, I can carve and inscribe them all. We're officially recognized by both the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor in Liyue and the Church of Favonius. I'm available for inscriptions, though only until I'm cured and out of here. Free of charge. — Totengrabov, who does not know "The Gravedigger's Song." Ask me one more time, and I'll carve a curse on your tablet.