Another one was dead. Celesta caressed the headstone of her late husband, number sixty-seven in her long lifetime. He had been a decent sort, and Celesta guessed that it would be a couple of good years before she went on to find number sixty-eight. At the very least, she should show a sign of mourning, her usual isolation period so the neighbors and mutual friends wouldn’t become suspicious.
She would need to move again. Celesta glanced around the small cemetery located in the middle of a little village hidden in the mountains of Vermont. Many of the other funeral attendees had ducked away, granting Celesta privacy as she grieved for Troy. Of course she grieved for him, just as she had her other husbands, but she knew it was inevitable that his time would come.
Troy had known that as well. Celesta had kept no secrets from him, especially of her heritage. He may not have believed her to be a goddess at first (although, he had certainly complimented and compared her beauty often enough), but as the years passed and she did not grow old, he came to terms with it.
Celesta would forever be grateful to Troy, for he was one of the few husbands that she had had the pleasure of spending several decades with that had not been jealous of her immortal status. No, he had just been pleased and humbled that out of all of the men on the world she had chosen to spend some time with him. Quite unlike Ralph, husband number thirty-eight, who had gotten quite agitated when he learned that he would not be immortal as well just because he had married Celesta. That hadn’t been a very long union and, with Ralph’s aggravating tendencies, his mortal life had to tragically be cut somewhat short.
She couldn’t very well allow someone to divulge her secret to the masses, now could she?
Celesta wrapped her black veil tighter around her face, hoping that her make-up had done its job of making her look older and wearier. It wouldn’t do at all for her secret to become public knowledge, especially in such a little town like this where everyone knew everyone else’s business.
She turned away one last time from Troy’s grave, a mental prayer being sent to the skies for her sixty-seventh husband to be well received while she pondered on where in the world she hadn’t lived in order to connect with a new batch of mortals.
Immortals tended to be alone, if only for the fact that they would outlive all that they have loved. Celesta did not want to succumb to the loneliness.