Mortimer cleansed his hand sunder the cold tap. Water dripped slowly down his forearms as he gently grasped the cloth next to the sink. A few drops fell to the porcelain tiles. He wiped them up immediately.

His hair was black, like burnt toast. It was slicked back with the rendered lard pomade he made a few weeks back. At twenty-nine, his sunken cheeks aged him at least five years.Dark circles under his eyes exposed his unregulated sleep schedule, his job wasn’t one with systematic hours like the marketplace. He didn't envy them though, the constant hustle and bustle, the bargaining, and conferring.

Sharp drafts burgeoned in from the second story windows, how ling winds calling out from beyond. The light dimmed, relying on the flickering candles for sight. Long shadows cast on theground as the sun began to set. The ground floor windows were boarded up, the only timber among the barren marble walls of his workshop. A few years ago, he had some issues with lurkers peering in while he worked. They were just curious,as most people were with Mortimer's process. Mortimer understood of course, but he figured he should conceal the windows anyway.

His limestone-coloured work bench sat in the middle of the room, the light scent of alcohol coated the surface since he’d cleaned it after his last project. Mortimer preferred a marble working space. It was much easier to clean. A mahogany desk sat in the corner. Thick text books, leather bound journals, and loose papers decked the surface. From the bottom shelf, Mortimer retrieved his tool-box.

Approaching his set up, he inhaled a familiar, subtle earthy smell. Nasira, his assistant, had prepared his undertaking for the day. Laid upon the bench were 206 off-white fragments.There were a few small cracks like lightning bolts on some of the larger ones. Mortimer noted little to no flaking on each of the pieces. This one had held up well. With his leather apron tied neatly over his rolled up linen shirt and trews, his workday began.

Sitting beside the fragments was a long, gilded box. A creak stirred as he opened it. Inside, clumps of strangled grey strands were neatly placed. The smell of rosemary engulfed theroom as he oiled the soft, grey fibres, combing it like hair. He loved the grey, it was his favourite colour. It reminded him of thunderstorms; the chill before first rainfall, leaden clouds shrouding the earth in a dark haze.

Gripping his shears, crisp snips echoed through the chamber while strands drifted onto the worktop, the curls blending in with the marbled stone. His calloused hands gathered the hair into small bundles before retrieving leather patches and his sewing kit from under the workbench.Pale white, waxy threads sat flat between his fingers as he meticulously looped them through the needle. Threads slowly weaved through leather, squeaking with each twist and pull in a discordant melody. Mortimer thought about how vastly superior the thread was to the normal cotton and linen. He tied the knot, nodding at his craftsmanship. Hair entwined with leather, as if awakening the animal hide with a new identity.Three patches were cast aside next to the wavering candle, the flickering animating the shadows. Putting on his eyeglasses, he continued to the next phase of transfiguration.

Mortimer reached inside histool-box and retrieved his egg-beater drill. A grinding resonance rang out asMortimer cranked the handle, the tool spun so the metal ridges became a blur.Slowly, he lowered the tool. Ghostly groans reverberated along the walls as hedrilled holes in the ends of each fragment. A smoky haze spattered like dustaround the workbench, the earthy smell magnifying. Gritty residue wafted fromthe air into his mouth reminding him of ground corn; he welcomed the taste onhis tongue.

Mortimer reached inside his tool-box and retrieved his egg-beater drill. A grinding resonance rang out as Mortimer cranked the handle, the tool spun so the metal ridges became a blur. Slowly, he lowered the tool. Ghostly groans reverberated along the walls as he drilled holes in the ends of each fragment. A smoky haze spattered like dust around the workbench, the earthy smell magnifying. Gritty residue wafted from the air into his mouth, reminding him of ground corn; he welcomed the taste on his tongue.

Nasira placed a sharpened metal chisel in Mortimer’s toolbox. Her smooth, taut skin contrasted the years of wear and tear on Mortimer's, despite him only being a decade older. Nasira wore her hair in a thick plait that reached her lower back. Eyeglasses perched on her hooked nose. She resembled the sculptures adorned throughout piazzas in the marketplace. Most people couldn’t reconcile her position helping the artisan. They often asked her why she worked for Mortimer. She never could answer that question.

‘Thank you,’ said Mortimer.Nasira nodded with a polite smile, before leaving as mildly as she came.

Mortimer resumed his work, approaching the most vital step in the process. His footsteps echoed against the silence as he opened the cabinet in the farthest part of the room. It was large, taller than Mortimer, and had richly carved geometric patterns along the surface. The hinges creaked like an old, rusted gate as he inched the doors open, exposing a metallic, copper smell. Cogs, gears, and springs were rigged against bronze and copper frames. Each had a tag attached with twine. The one furthest to the right on the middle shelf read, “Enya”. He carefully picked her up and carried her to his workspace.

After removing the tag, he began moving the individual fragments onto the cold, metal frame. Screws ground through the metal, scraping in a grisly screech. Each calculated movement worked like art under Mortimer’s masterful thumbs. He twisted until the metal shrieked under the pressure. Like a jigsaw puzzle, the pieces came together, moulding themselves to the metal.

He picked up his surgical saw. The metal ridges grated against the bottom of the dome in precise vertical movements, carving out a perfect square from the hollow fragment. A matchbox-sized metal tube rattled as he inserted it into the hole he’d just created. On the front of the dome, two hollow cavities lay dusty and vacant. It was melancholic, Mortimer thought. Like an abandoned house awaiting new inhabitants. Ones only he could fill. Reaching inside the cavities, the ridges of his fingertips culled the thick layer of dust.

With a gentle hand, Mortimer collected a ruby from the jar and crunched it inside the first socket, the stone digging grooves into the sides of the hole. He repeated the process once more, the final piece of the puzzle.

Red jewels stared back at Mortimer, reflecting soft shimmers of light on his face. Their new home. Warmth spilled in his chest as he admired her.

Beautiful.

A labyrinth of vivid greenhedges embellished the courtyard of the family’s villa. Marble statues linedthe paved path to the maroon, embellished doors. Green vines snaked the facadeof the building, encasing half the limestone walls. Birds chirped in thedistance, a welcome call.

Inside, fresh flowers coated the room in a floral aroma. Sitting on an otherwise empty cherry-wood desk was Enya. She was delivered yesterday morning. Underneath the large glass windows, she sat silently, overseeing her family like a guardian. Cara faced Enya while her husband, Bran, held their two children under his arms on the green, velvet chaise lounge. Finton and Bronwyn had not stopped staring at Enya since she arrived. She was perfect.

‘Mortimer, she’s exquisite,'Cara exclaimed.

Mortimer hunched over Enya,examining his work. He’d just arrived for his first check-in after delivery.

Sun rays illuminated Enya’s bones in an angelic embrace. Her spine was carefully drilled into the metal boning, the ribs binded like wings, exposing her mechanical organs. Enya’s hair trailed sparsely down the neck, the wig patches pinned in holes through her head. Jewels replaced the cavities where her teeth were once lodged.

‘I have excess of hervertebral column and ribs, would you like me to bring them when I check in next week?’ Mortimer queried.

‘That would be wonderful!’Cara replied, ‘Finton was looking to make a pair of lucky dice!’ Finton grinned almost as bright as his red, curly hair. At thirteen, he had only eight years of memories of is grandmother before she died. Then, a long five years of entombment. He’d missed her.

Bran ruffled his sons hair,'she was working hard all yesterday- actually earlier today someone purchased one of our spices, I waited to process the deal to show you how well she works!' Bran told Mortimer.

Bran gathered a piece ofpaper, like a receipt, from the top of the table beside the couch and approached Enya. Carefully, he lowered her mandible, clicking it into place asit lay open unnaturally wide. He inserted the small file into her mouth. Athrum droned from her insides as the paper trailed down. Then, a rattle like pill bottle resounded through the room.

‘We love that rattle, it brings us luck every trade,' Cara said.

‘Her teeth,' Mortimer explained, ‘that’s her teeth making that noise.'

The rattles ceased and another whir expelled from her metallic throat and a second piece of paper inched over her jaw. The scrip emerged validating the transaction. Bran grabbed it and walked it over to Mortimer to show him.

Mortimer examined the scrip,‘I am glad she’s functioning well.'

Enya’s being was transformed.Metal and bone in a synergistic dance validating the sorts of deals she once made. Her soul met the saints with a new purpose.

Cara walked up to Enya, a smile forming on her lips. Her shoulders slumped, and she took a deep breath.The wisp from her inhale echoed, settling the thrill in the air.

"I’ve missed her so much, I’m so pleased she’s joined the saints," Cara ran a finger along her mother’s grey hair, the soft strands falling between her fingers. She felt her bones, the surface hard and coarse under her touch. A draught blew in from the windows, whispering to the room, as if Enya was speaking to her. Tears brimmed in Cara’s eyes as she held her mother’s skull in her hands, staring into the rubies that replaced her mother’s once brown eyes.

‘Her eyes used to have flecks of red in them, when she stood in the sun,’ she thought aloud, rubbing a fingerover the jewel.

Mortimer observed the room.Reuniting families with their deceased loved ones, bringing luck through sanctified remains. Every project was unique, though equally as magnificent.Commemoration through art. He loved this part, but he knew it was time to return home to his workshop, tonight he had a new project. An entombment.

His tools clinked together ashe picked his duffle bag from the carpet and headed to the front door.

‘Wait,’ Cara called out andran up to him, she embraced him in a one-sided hug. He settled into her arms.

‘Thank you,' she said,staring into his dark eyes.

Mortimer nodded and left thevilla. Stepping into the sunlight, he walked down the freshly watered hedges leaving Enya’s transfigured remains behind, reunited with her family.