Morningstar

[CH. 0016] - The Ravendrift's Ashleys

"Even death knows we can't compete with that bear!" - Mayor Paxton

Adamastor's arm felt solid and comforting around her waist as he guided her through the sea of faces and towards the front of the room. There, Rosemary lay in an open casket, blanketed in roses, a portrait of her and Frank wrapped tenderly in her arms. She looked serene as though she were merely in a deep, undisturbed sleep.

Swallowing hard, Nord turned her gaze to Adamastor. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"Step up to the stage and greet everyone," he replied softly. "Once you finish speaking, people will begin to make their way to the cemetery, and the casket will follow."

"Lead all these people?" Her eyes widened in a mix of disbelief and anxiety.

Adamastor leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Once you leave the Manor, turn left. Just walk until you reach the graveyard. That's all you need to do."

Something about his simplicity made it manageable, almost effortless. It was as though he'd taken the sprawling complexity of the situation and folded it down into something Nord could hold in her hand, a single, doable task.

Nord nodded, steeling herself. As she ascended the stage, her eyes instinctively searched for that young man in the white tuxedo, that mesmerizing embodiment of paradox.

But then she reminded herself of the moment, of the people around her, of the gravity of her new role, and the responsibility it entailed. Her gaze shifted to the portrait of Rosemary and Frank, a snapshot of love and happiness framed by the sombre ceremony. A pang of sadness washed over her, but it also kindled something else—a sense of purpose, of duty to honour the departed and their legacy.

Clearing her throat, she leaned into an imaginary microphone and began to speak.

The quiet that descended upon the salon was almost palpable, a thick silence that seemed to weigh on her shoulders. Her boots felt rooted to the floor, yet at the same time, it was as though the ground beneath them was shifting, spinning. She sought an anchor, a focus point in the room, something to quell the rising tide of her nerves.

Then her eyes found him—the young man in the white tuxedo. Amidst a sea of solemn blacks and greys, he was an island of contrast, standing alone but vivid. A warm sense of comfort filled her, a lifeline amidst the overwhelming current of faces and expectations.

"Thank you for receiving me," she began, her voice resonating with a newfound steadiness as if speaking only to him. "I don't know any of you. Well, maybe a few, but do they really count?"

A ripple of laughter spread through the room, lightening the sombre atmosphere for a moment as people exchanged knowing glances.

"Much is expected of me," Nord continued, "and I'm still trying to figure out how this world works. I'm very patient, but while I may take time to learn, I am—well, 'stubborn' is really the only word that comes to mind."

Nord's eyes lingered on the mysterious man, and for a moment, the crowd, the weight of the occasion, it all faded into the background. She noticed the curve of a smile on his lips—was it meant for her? She realized she was smiling too, a genuine smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth, reaching up to touch her eyes.

"However," she added, reclaiming the room's attention, "today is not about me. Today is about Rosemary. She was my grandmother's younger sister, and she left Earth in the early '70s, long before I was born. So, as you can imagine, I have no recollection of who she was or what she was like. But I would love to learn from each one of you. I know she ran a successful business, and I'll do my best to get it up and running as soon as possible. Now, let's celebrate a woman renowned for her love and kindness."