They Who Slaughtered Hope 🌈| 1-2 Updates a Month

Chapter 21

But the only question Lennox could conjure was regarding Renato's whereabouts and when he would resurface. The florist couldn't measure just how much he craved Ren's company.

Ren wasn't there, and Lennox wondered how he was doing.

The last time Lennox had seen Ren was when he stormed out of Wade's party. Ever since, the redhead hadn't left his room. The florist missed his smile, the sarcasm that matched Lennox's own, and the suggestive comments that always seemed to leave him speechless.

But every time he knocked, there was no answer to greet him.

Lennox had a sly suspicion that Ren wasn't actually in his room. He was all too familiar with its uncanny similarities to Chase's behaviour. A locked door meant an unlocked window.

It was escapism at its finest. Yet Lennox chose not to pry as he watched Renato's occasional darting to the bathroom or the kitchen. He chose not to pry when he noticed the redhead's limp. Or the overall lack of bandages, painkillers, and junk food. Ren disappeared as fast as he arrived, and still, Lennox chose not to pry.

For that was not his role.

He glanced at his mother, who was sobbing quietly, clutching a bouquet of blue roses and white lilies. On her head rested black lace which formed a long veil around her. It gave her headpiece the appearance of a bourgeois beekeeping hat.

Emily herself was frail and broken, like a porcelain doll trapped in the same dreary lace. A doll that had been shattered and glued back together. He wondered how she could still love the man who had treated her so poorly, who had cheated on her with Mel, even after the argument before his death that painted his opinions oh-so clearly.

How could she still defend him, still praise him, still mourn him after all that had happened?

Drawn to the flowers and handheld lanterns were a swarm of moths, fluttering around the coffin. One could almost think they were drawn to the darkness and the corpse instead of the light, after all the testing the Brotherhood inflicted on them. They were gloomy and dull, unlike the bright and beautiful doves that were often released at weddings.

Their furred wings caressed the box that was Wade's final resting place. Occasionally, they would brush against a particularly sad, vehement soul, only to get swatted away for showing affection.

Such were the curses of bioengineering.

The moths were doomed to die after mere hours of release. Their only purpose was to give the air a sombre feel.

It was a commander's funeral, that much was certain.

Emily, who had planned it all herself, had spared no expense for her late husband. Funerals were already senselessly expensive, but she went above and beyond, just for him. For his beyond. In doing so, she put no thought into her own future, even though she was the one remaining.

Lennox thought it was a wasted effort. His father wasn't alive to appreciate it, so why bother?

He felt a tap on his shoulder. Lennox turned to see Mel. He was surprised she showed up, even after all the rumours circling on the topic of who killed Wade. Most attendees of the soirée shrugged it off, calling Wade haughty for thinking he could host his lavish party and not get picked off by the Syndicate eventually. Others were suspicious that no one else was killed but him. But Melaea was here, despite the odds.

Like his mother, Mel was adorned in black lace. Where thread held together the two halves of the garment rested an enamel pin, crafted in the likeness of a moth.

She slipped Lennox a piece of paper. "Read it later," Mel whispered. "They may be able to offer you the answers you were looking for."

They? He didn't know who she could be talking about.