Amara, one of the needless amounts of Soul Gatherers, smiled widely as she proceeded to make one of her famous perfume oils. The girl's companion Elisabeth Thompson found her happiness natural. She knew no different. Elisabeth was unaware of Amara's deepest sorrows and emotional turmoils.

How could she, when Amara did not dare to share her pain with her?

Standing beside the younger looking girl, Elisabeth listened carefully and copied her simple instructions, 'we will pour fractionated coconut oil into the perfume bottle first,' Amara instructed.

'Now onto the lavender and blood orange essential oils,' the girl told and carried out the task, adding ten drops of each oil, into the bottle, 'and shake it good for a moment or so.'

This was their tradition from the first week, Elisabeth became Amara's neighbour all those forty years ago. Amara would teach the now seventy-year-old lady how to make homemade cosmetics of all types, and Elisabeth would in return show her how to bake all those incredible baked goods, Amara loved so much. Their get together would take place every week and luckily for Amara, the lady did not ask many questions concerning her persona. Elisabeth never voiced, why the girl did not age, for, she surely must have wondered.

To an onlooker, this was a normal boring day for the elderly. Someone who looked as young as Amara surely did not belong here. However, this was the only time she could concentrate on her self, and on the present. This was indeed a rarity to Amara, for, most of the days, she would spend gathering the souls of the dead.

These rare moments represented happiness. The happiness she seemed to lack.

Elisabeth's hands, covered with veins and tiny brown age spots, carried the task of perfume making with ease until the completed product stood placed on the kitchen island. Her green eyes entwined themselves with ageing deep lines, caused by endless genuine laughter. She always smiled or laughed, every time Amara was in the safety of her company, and to Amara, her friendly face represented irreplaceable comfort.

And comfort or even safety was something Amara never knew before she met this lady.

Or perhaps, she was just being overly dramatic.

Taking the plastic bottle into her hand, Elisabeth sprayed a small amount of product onto her wrist and dragged the covered skin closer to her nose. She sniffed the substance and exhaled in content, 'It smells very nice, how come you know so many beautiful recipes?' Elisabeth proceeded to ask.

Amara repeated Elisabeth's actions, sniffing the beautiful scent she was for some reason fond of as if remembering a distant memory. She shook her head negatively, 'I do not know.'

She was telling the truth. She did not remember where she learnt so many homemade beauty recipes. Perhaps it was so long ago, her brain simply deleted the memories of learning the trade.

Yet when dwelling on her memories long enough, she could always think of a few empty gaps, as if the information was indeed missing. Conceivably, it may have been just a curse of an immortal and there was no need for thinking about it any longer.

A couple of hours passed and the clock began showing 8:30 in the grey and rainy autumn London's morning. Amara still had an hour to spare, before she was forced to get back to her responsibilities. Hence why the two women were enjoying a cup of coffee and freshly baked cherry chocolate brownies. The atmosphere felt light and their conversation cheerful. Due to Amara's unpractised social skills, however, her responses were somehow lacking yet it seemed Elisabeth did not mind.

'It's an enjoyable TV series. I cannot wait for the new season to start after a year of waiting. I believe it starts next week,' Elisabeth cheerfully talked about her favourite show.

'I've read all the books. Human Angels gripped me from the beginning. I've had no time for watching it though but was quite happy when I heard it got made into a tv series,' Amara went to admit.

Little did Elisabeth knew, Amara only bought the books because she followed the author's mother and even her grandmother. That was over thirty years ago now when the first Human Angels got released. The author's grandmother was an incredible author also, Amara could recall. She could still remember being delighted reading, the at the time unknown author's newly released book, just over one hundred years ago.

She felt as if it was only yesterday.

Amara sipped on the bittersweet milky substance enjoying the warmness it gave her throat. The grey-haired lady copied her actions, listening to the radio in the background playing the modern hits. They both snacked on the cake and Amara found herself lost in the present listening to all the beautiful sounds of London; birds chirping, cars revving, children shouting, people conversing.

To Amara, the noise was far from pollution.

It represented life.

It represented humanity.

It represented happiness.

It represented sadness.

It represented nature.

And her present also represented peace.

'I was thinking we could make candles next week,' Amara suggested.

Elisabeth nodded with a closed-lip smile, 'and we could also make the blueberry cheesecake you like.'

Amara took the last swing of her coffee and took the light-blue mug towards the kitchen sink alongside with all the dirty dishes both women made. She washed them quickly but thoroughly, whilst listening to Elisabeth talk about her plans for the upcoming week.

'A friend is going to visit me on Tuesday. She lives in Manchester so we have not seen each other for a couple of years now. I might take her to that new Italian restaurant they recently opened down the street.'

'Sounds like a good plan,' Amara commented whilst drying her hands into a hand towel placed near the sink, 'is she the one you mentioned a couple of times? the one who went to university with you and James?'

'Indeed it is. Amelia is the only friend who knew myself and James from the beginning of our relationship, whole way through to his death.'

'It's very nice you two still talk to each other after so many years,' Amara admired.

'We used to exchange letters all the time, keeping in touch with all the gossip and now, we have text messages. James used to joke we are telepathically joined by the hip, whatever that means.'

Amara listened to Elisabeth, who was a grandmother figure to her, and was grateful, she could have a companion in this pure-hearted lady. It also reminded her of the things she missed out on when she was still human, however, there is no point wondering of all the what if's.

'Do you need any shopping for this week at all?' Amara asked whilst getting ready to go home.

Home being the almost identical first-floor apartment next door to Elisabeth. The only difference between the apartments was the furniture and decor. Whilst Elisabeth was happy with the furniture she and James first bought together, Amara changed her furniture like socks. Luckily, she could afford her wild spending sprees.

'no need deary, but thank you.'

Amara nodded, 'I'll see you next week, Beth. I will buy the ingredients this time so text me what we need for the cheesecake.'

'Shouldn't you know the recipe by now?' Elisabeth teased.

'Not everyone has the gift of good memory. You seem to know all your recipes by heart so why do I have to?' she retaliated which made the old lady chuckle, 'but have fun with Amelia. Hopefully, the restaurant will be good as well.'

'See you next week my lovely.'

They parted and Amara felt un-needed worry, as she walked the very few steps towards her apartment, the taste of coffee still lingering in her mouth. It was already almost ten o'clock and she knew the second the clock hand hits ten, it would be time for her responsibilities to start again. Just like a cycle, ever so neverending. She was only grateful these weekly visits could break down her immortal existence, even if only a small amount.

She was also grateful her owner had no objections towards Amara being friends with a mere mortal. She knew he probably did not care enough about her existence to even think of objecting to anything concerning her, for he has not paid her a visit in one century.

Yes, she was so old, it was enough to pay a visit to her once every century.