𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒

ᴏɴᴇ ʜᴜɴᴅʀᴇᴅ ᴛᴡᴇʟᴠᴇ

𝗙ranki pulled on the front of her windbreaker hood, bringing it more over her face as the heavy downpour of this afternoon in France continued its reign on her. She found the irony of the weather amusing; out of all days she chose to visit, it had to rain. Out of all the days in the year, the one time she steps foot back into her home country, it gives her a reason to leave again. A reason to resent the place where she grew up.

But that could never happen. And it never would.

Not as long as Ezra was resting here.

She looked to the side and caught a glimpse of Blaine walking beside her. His head was bowed like her own; rainwater tangled itself in small paths across his hood, dripping down at the same glided pace. His eyes were glued to the pavement as they walked deeper into the graveyard in search of the family tomb. Hands deep in his pockets, and mouth clenched shut, she knew not to speak up and break the silence that was between them. It wasn't uncomfortable – it just was.

The two of them had flown out here this morning before anyone else had woken up. She hated the fact that she left Jase like that in her bed, especially after the night they had yesterday, but she knew it was for the best. She had not lied to him; she did not deserve him, and until she felt like she did, she wanted him to keep his distance.

Even if reality was – pushing him away hurt her just as much as it hurt him.

Franki shook those thoughts out of her head and tore her gaze upward, falling in stride with her brother once more as they rounded the graveyard corner and began to climb the small hill. At the top rested the area in which they had not visited since he passed away four years ago.

They stopped in front of the tomb, sighing at its beautiful and gigantic nature. Their parents were Catholic, so it was only fair that Ezra was put to rest with a big white cross jutting out of the ground. She crouched down in front of the stone and raised a hand, tracing the letters of his name with her pointer finger.

Ezra Guillaume Dupont: 2003 – 2015.

He was only eleven when he passed away; if he lived a little longer, he might have made it to his twelfth birthday. But life got in the way. She got in the way – her childish antics and her lack of understanding about this world at the ripe age of fifteen.

If only she hadn't fooled around so much. If only she'd known better.

She let out a shaky breath as Blaine placed his hand on her shoulder, lowering himself right beside her. She looked briefly in his direction, taking a mental picture of the solemn look on his face. She would never tell him this verbally, but sometimes, whenever she looked at him, all she could see was Ezra. They had the same dark black hair and the same sharp cheekbones. The only difference was that Ezra had inherited their mother's eyes – a dazzling shade of aquamarine.

Even when she was just a kid, she knew that their parents' prized possession was the youngest child. Of course, it was. Ezra was their angel cast down from the heavens. Beautiful inside and out. So it was a catastrophic shock when their eldest daughter killed him.