Black And Blue

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The constant pitter patter of raindrops as they assaulted the black feathered parasol of the newly made matriarch toned out the small sniffles of the bearer, her eyes as wet and free flowing as the clouds above. Her face was already streaked with muddled mascara and runny eyeliner that had ran down her face and into the ground below, speckling it with spots of black. The rich and firm earth of Pays Sud did not relent easily though, she would note as the black quickly faded into the life giving soil, nor should she; she had to be strong. The tug of her coat by small grubby hands reminded her why.

Yet, not even she could keep back the torrent of tears forever. It was the first time since arriving to the coastal city of Oakclyff that Olivia had finally been offered the privacy to mourn in peace. The loyal and loving citizens had all been given time to grieve their lost leader with the open services. Hundreds upon hundreds came and went in those days. Where she had to act strong and resolute, offering sympathy, encouragement, and reassurance even when she herself felt none of the above. But Olivia did her duty, watching on as silent as possible as they all got the chance to meet with the Lord of Oakclyff face to face; even if it was only meeting him in death.

And his face, the handsome and rugged features that had gotten an Ithanian socialite to fall in love with him all those years ago, was ruined. The Silent Sisters had done their best with what they had, offering the heiress silent condolences and apologies before presenting the body to her. Stitched and sutured scars, no matter how much make up had been applied, were all too visible as they had been etched across the man's face in his last moments of life. There were other things wrong, so many things, but as Olivia traced her manicured finger along the scars, she stopped at the mouth. It was... drawn out, into a sort of everlasting grimace of despair. That was nothing like the adventurous and strong man that had raised her.

Even then, before those silent veiled matrons of death, Olivia kept as silent as they, thanking and dismissing them with a simple nod. How could she tell them to bring back that smile? That grin, always followed by a hearty laugh and firm push in the direction that she needed to go. She shivered, the memory of an age long gone resurfacing. A time before their small family had been split up.

When Maman had been around, lounging on the white sandy beach of Ithania, and Papa urged her brother on as he swung from the mast of Seasalt into the depths of the sea with an exploding splash. He resurfaced, laughing on and Maman beckoned him over to join her on the sunkissed sand to warm up. Olivia, however, sat on the railing of the mighty vessel, looking down to the white crashing foam that had formed on the side of the boat. Then that gentle guiding hand showed her the way, eased her out of the all consuming fear that had enveloped the young girl, and into the sea; to join her brother in the joys of life.

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He had finally arrived. The Viridian Castle had just barely allowed the Man-at-Arms to leave, as he was already behind on his training and studies. It had been an embarrassing three years since his failure to rise as a Viridian Knight amongst his fellow prospects. He had grown up with those men, seeing most of them more often than his own family, and he couldn't even graduate with them. They were the brothers he never had, and he failed them. The thick curly haired man clenched one of his massive hands in anger, a silver banded ring with a sapphire-like gem set into it just catching the light and might have even looked like it had been glowing.

Côme let out a deep breath, exhaling through gritted teeth as he tried to hold back the many emotions stirring within him. Grief, anger, disappointment... Disgust, with himself. The Order had not even allowed him to come and help his sister with the preparations. And so she was forced to suffer, by his accord, but not by his choice! Again, a glint of light from the gem, and quick steady breaths helped calmed the man's mind.

It was difficult enough as it was to be there, surrounded by strangers and having to stand tall and vigilant, like some green clad marble statue. Even here, Côme was bound by the oaths and ordinances of his order. To be strong. Honorable. Sincere. Adamant. All things he just couldn't do. He so desperately wished he could break down and fall into the nothingness he felt that he was; but alas, he had to stay strong for the others: his Order, his smallfolk, his sister.

The Oakenshield and Côme led the procession, acting as pallbearers, followed by Olivia and her entourage. Despite many protest and suggestions, the Ombre siblings had decided to make the funeral private. A local reverend performed the Sacrament of Slumber for the loved patriarch. He recited the creeds, going on and on as those of his profession tend to do, until at last it was time. A huge bouquet of flowers, all handpicked by Olivia herself, lay atop the polished oak casket. And with final words said and done, Joaquin Ombre was finally put to rest, alongside his loving wife.