Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
☞︎ ☘︎︎ ☻︎ ☘︎︎ ☜︎ "I'm sorry I couldn't make it in time, Will," ☞︎ ☘︎︎ ☻︎ ☘︎︎ ☜︎
Y/N was frozen by her feet, not being able to move. The black dress she wore was flowing freely in the breeze.
Her tears stained the flowers in her hands, white roses and hyacinth, along with Will's favorite, Forget-Me-Nots. She shivered as she stood alone at her own brothers grave.
She couldn't even move when she heard the footsteps behind her, growing louder. A hand was placed on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Y/N," Clay spoke, removing his mask, and placing it over his forehead. She sniffled, moving her hand into his, "I- Don't expect me to be home tonight. Please."
He nodded, releasing her hand lightly, placing down a small flag upon the small headstone, then walking back from the way he came.
The flag of L'Manburg.
Earlier that day, Y/N had buried her own brother. In his coffin, laid the body, the flag of his unfinished symphony, and his wings.
Y/N decided that her brother should be put to peace entirely, including the pieces of him that weren't attached.
She wiped her eyes, placing down the bouquet and pulling Will's guitar, one of his most prized possessions, from the tree behind the grave.
When Wilbur and Y/N were children, fourteen and thirteen, Wilbur had taught her to play the guitar, as he wanted someone to play along with him.
"I'm never going to get it right," Y/N complained as she struggled to place her fingers in the right place.
The chord she was attempting would sound stressed, muffled by her fingertips.
Wilbur smiled, "Have patience," he moved her fingers into a more comfortable position, "And try again. The more you try, the better you'll get!"
With her fingers in the right place, she strummed, the hollow instrument finally creating the perfect sound.
Y/N's eyes lit up, her fingers lifting and placing back into the same place, "I've got it!"
"Good! Now I have a strumming pattern for you! It's quite easy once you get a hold of it," Wilbur explained, reading from a notebook full of notes and lyrics.
After walking his sister through the pattern, she put everything together, creating a song that she had never heard before.
Confused, she asked her brother, "What's this one called, Wilbur?"
