Ofrendas: Deadname - SCP Foundation

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At his old age, climbing up the stairs to his fifth-floor apartment was a daunting task for Hector. Now, adding the weight of the altar material to several of these runs had exhausted him further. He left the heaviest for last: a 40 cm ceramic statue depicting a rainbow robe-wearing skeleton carrying a scythe in one hand and the world in the other.

Despite his exhaustion, he managed to drag the statue up to his living room. There, a colorful Día de Muertos altar occupied most of the space. He placed the statue at the top level of the altar and backed down a few steps to admire his work. Next to the statue, there was a Catrina paper mache figure in a vibrant red dress and a framed picture of his beloved Cecilia. The lower levels of the altar were stuffed with colorful candles, cempasúchil flower and papel picado, as well as pan de muerto, calaveritas de azúcar, dulce de calabaza, pulque and a selection of Cecilia's favorites flavors of tamales: mole, chipilín, frijol tierno and rajas.

Cecilia died last year, so this would be the first time she would be coming for the Ofrenda. It was only October 31st so she wouldn't be coming for a couple of nights, but Hector had put in the extra time and effort to make sure everything would be ready in advance and for her to feel welcomed. Hector was proudly contemplating the beautiful offering when, suddenly, the warm feeling in his chest turned into a sharp pain. He tried to scream for help, but no words escaped his lips. He fell to the floor, right in front of the altar he had so lovingly built.

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Hector woke up to find himself in a dark place. He could not see anything, not even his own body. Without the gift of sight, Hector turned to his other senses. He could feel a watery sensation on his feet and hear the sound of running water in the distance.

"What are you waiting for?" called an annoyed voice. "I got a busy schedule. I don't have all night."

He turned around to find a black, hairless dog staring directly at him with gold-colored eyes. "Did you just talk? What are you?" asked Hector. "Yes, I know: you have a lot of questions," said the dog impatiently. "But I don't get paid enough to care. Content yourself with knowing that I'm Xolotl Zuma from the National Psychopomp Delivery Services. Guiding lost souls to Mictlán since the dawn of time. Save your questions for the boss when we cross the river… Why do you keep looking at me like an idiot? Follow me!"

As the dog turned and walked away, Hector instinctively followed it. After all, it was the only thing he could see in all of the nothingness. He felt the water level gradually rising as he advanced: first to his knees, then his hips, and finally to his chest. "Grab me," the Xolotl ordered. "Well, unless you want to drown in oblivion. And then, the boss lady will cut my pay. So don't." Hector complied and hugged the dog. It was his only lifeline in the sea of darkness. Hector closed his eyes, praying to whatever gods may be to wake him from this bad dream soon.

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Suddenly, the river waters disappeared and Hector opened their eyes to find themself standing in an endless field of orange flowers. They ducked to touch the flowers and allow the soft petals to caress the tips of their fingers. "Cempasúchil", they thought.

"I'm so glad you made it here," said an unfamiliar voice. Hector looked up, startled. An elegant figure had appeared in front of them. She wore a beautiful red dress, topped with a wide-brim hat decorated with candles. "I always get so worried when one of you has to cross the Chiconahuapan. Thankfully, good people almost always manage to make it."

Hector tried to force their sight to make sense of their interlocutor. It was either a skeleton in an elegant dress… or a sharp-dressed woman wearing a calavera make-up. Somehow, both options were equally true, coexisting in a superposition of realities that rather than being contradictory, were complimentary.

"Are you…" Hector hesitated while remembering the figures on their altar, "Are you the Pale Lady?"

"I'm often called by that nickname. I quite like it; it is certainly more elegant than La Huesuda."

"If you are the Lady, does that mean that I… Am I…?"

"Yes, darling," replied La Catrina, with a smile. "I am afraid you are dead."

"But my Ofrenda… Cecilia… I was supposed to wait for her."

"She will be fine. You left her a very nice altar. Your sons also have her in theirs. She won't go hungry this Día de Muertos."

"My sons… I didn't have a chance to say goodbye."

"I'm sorry. Sometimes we don't get what we should."

Hector remained silent for a while. "So… what is next? What happens to me now?"

"Well, you will have to make some choices. For example, Hector was your livename. While you are here, and if you decide to remain, you should get a deadname… may I suggest, Victoria?

"Deadname? Victoria? How do you know that I..? I never told anyone… not even Cecilia."

"There are no secrets in Death. I can see you as you really are. And now, so can you."

Victoria felt a warm feeling on her fingers. She looked at her hands. The roughness and frailness of an old man had given place to the delicate yet strong features of a young woman. She began to realize that the transubstantiation had extended to her entire being. As she took stock of her new self, Victoria was suddenly overwhelmed by an indescribable sense of euphoria. She hugged herself, crying tears of joy as she sank to her knees amid the flowers. Then, as suddenly as this new joy had washed over her, she stood up and began to laugh uncontrollably.

"This is a miracle! How is this possible?! Oh God, I need to show this to Cecilia…" A somber, worried expression clouded Victoria's face. "She would understand… right? Will she be fine with me? Where is she?"

"That is the second decision you will have to take. Some people get to have a choice, between Mictlán and Heaven. Cecilia took the latter. And now is your turn." The Pale Lady made a swift gesture with her hands and the cempasúchil flowers shot up from the ground, quickly forming an archway. The flowery aperture filled with dense silver fog. It was hard to see clearly through it, but Victoria could catch glimpses of the Silver City and the inhabitants of the Nine Spheres, from the beastly cherubs to the twisted ophanim guarding the Thrones. One could even begin to hear the majestic resonance of the infinite angelic chorus signing the Eternal Hymns to the His Everlasting Glory.

"Is Cecilia really there?"

"That is the same gate she crossed when she was here. You are free to do the same and meet her, if that is what your heart desires. They do have a bigger budget over there, I have to admit. Here, we all have to do our part to keep this place running… However, I must warn you. I'm afraid you won't be allowed you to remain as Victoria if you decide on the Silver City. Their rules are… let's say I often find myself in stark disagreement with the rules of this particular version of the Kingdom of Heaven."

Victoria kept silent for a few seconds. "If I stay, will I never see her again?"

"You could meet the next year at the Ofrenda. Whether or not she would accept you as Victoria is something not even I can know…"

Victoria's gaze was lost in the towering silhouettes of the City of God. She felt as if her heart was being profoundly pierced by an arrow of sorrow. She began to dissociate between his past and her future; his life, and her death. Then she was hit by the sudden realization that for the first time in forever, she was in control of her fate.

"I lived all my life as a hollow shell. It was as if I was living someone's else life. Never felt like anything was truly mine. Not my body, not my name, not even my family. Going back to that, even if it is in Paradise, would be Hell for me…" Victoria looked directly into La Catrina's eyes — at first, with profound sadness. And then, suddenly, with a firmness of purpose. "I will stay." As soon as Victoria had finished saying those last words, the fog dissipated, and the flower archway collapsed, silencing once and for all the echoes from the Silver City.

Victoria also collapsed to her knees, tears rolling from her cheeks. The Pale Lady smiled tenderly and hugged Victoria. Victoria accepted the embrace of the Lady of the Dead as she allowed herself to cry again, this time confused tears of joy mixed with sorrow.

"Did I make the right choice?"

"That is not for me to judge, mi niña."

"It's funny," said Victoria, as a smile began to form on her face, "This is the first time I have ever truly felt alive… and I'm dead!" She burst into laughter that was so sincere and so contagious that the Goddess of Mictlán herself couldn't help but join her.

"Stranger things have happened, querida," said the White Widow, smiling. "Welcome to the place where you belong."

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Felíz Día de Muertos