Two angels guarded the path, granite spears crossed before their spread wings, their heads reverently bowed in the face of God with their backs turned to the Dead. A wrought iron fence surrounded a branch of the RhyDin Cemetery atop a small round hill, long ago belonging to the Atren family, now used freely by many prominent West Enders. The earth was obstinately fertile here in spite of the greyness of the place, life springing up from death. Still green in spite of the frost it glistened with all day. It crunched underfoot, indistinguishable from the gravel paths minutes earlier.
Alain muttered a prayer, a handful of strange words, as he passed beneath the angel's weapons. His shoulder holster swung from a post near the gate, likely a signpost long ago " it was no place for arms. The pair of angels said as much.
At the far end of the graveyard, one of the last vacancies until recently, lay a patch of barren earth, a place the grass and the earthworms would not conquer until the ground thawed in the springtime. It had been a day for flowers " Chinese roses for "Tulip," pink roses for his mother's empty grave, and the brightest tropical flowers he could find for Leslie, all enchanted to stay alive a little longer in the bitter cold. Lisa liked wildflowers, yellow and purple especially, and dozens of those framed a cluster of light blue roses. She would have loved the arrangement or pretended she did (with a discreet nibbling of her lower lip), and Alain would have loved her for either. Still loved her for it, even.
The gravestone was a softer tone of grey than the others, almost white, shining like a star among the others. It was an angel, a particular design Kael had recommended in a rare sympathetic moment, enclosing something other than itself in the protective embrace of broad feathered wings.
Lisa Jefferies born 2 September, 1931 A.D. died 9 December, 2008 C.A., aged 25 She has found a better paradise.
Alain knelt and placed the flowers upon her grave. His heart yearned and, without thinking, he reached out to touch the gravestone, hoping to feel instead the softness of her jaw or the tickle of her lashes when they fluttered on his skin. Instead there was an unyielding, unfeeling cold, and he felt sick.
She was dead. Her soul had gone on to parts unknown, leaving Alain in RhyDin with his pain, and the man responsible for it all"
"Howe," he said without meaning to, slipping past his lips as he rose from her grave. The rage simmered in his chest and drove him away from this place, as it had before " he could not poison this place with his rage and bloodlust. Lisa deserved better company.
"I'm gonna go take care of a few things, doll," he announced over his shoulder as he left, and paused beyond the angels to light a cigarette. ?"I'll return when I'm finished."
Alain muttered a prayer, a handful of strange words, as he passed beneath the angel's weapons. His shoulder holster swung from a post near the gate, likely a signpost long ago " it was no place for arms. The pair of angels said as much.
At the far end of the graveyard, one of the last vacancies until recently, lay a patch of barren earth, a place the grass and the earthworms would not conquer until the ground thawed in the springtime. It had been a day for flowers " Chinese roses for "Tulip," pink roses for his mother's empty grave, and the brightest tropical flowers he could find for Leslie, all enchanted to stay alive a little longer in the bitter cold. Lisa liked wildflowers, yellow and purple especially, and dozens of those framed a cluster of light blue roses. She would have loved the arrangement or pretended she did (with a discreet nibbling of her lower lip), and Alain would have loved her for either. Still loved her for it, even.
The gravestone was a softer tone of grey than the others, almost white, shining like a star among the others. It was an angel, a particular design Kael had recommended in a rare sympathetic moment, enclosing something other than itself in the protective embrace of broad feathered wings.
Lisa Jefferies born 2 September, 1931 A.D. died 9 December, 2008 C.A., aged 25 She has found a better paradise.
Alain knelt and placed the flowers upon her grave. His heart yearned and, without thinking, he reached out to touch the gravestone, hoping to feel instead the softness of her jaw or the tickle of her lashes when they fluttered on his skin. Instead there was an unyielding, unfeeling cold, and he felt sick.
She was dead. Her soul had gone on to parts unknown, leaving Alain in RhyDin with his pain, and the man responsible for it all"
"Howe," he said without meaning to, slipping past his lips as he rose from her grave. The rage simmered in his chest and drove him away from this place, as it had before " he could not poison this place with his rage and bloodlust. Lisa deserved better company.
"I'm gonna go take care of a few things, doll," he announced over his shoulder as he left, and paused beyond the angels to light a cigarette. ?"I'll return when I'm finished."