Mortal Comforts || Kuroshitsuji OC

Cemetery Drive

     Outside of the estate, the wind was howling an enraged requiem.

     Leaves swept across the ground in maddened torrents, spiraling into the air and slamming back onto the cobblestone with all the force of an angry god. Trees bent in the heavy gusts; branches swayed dangerously and loose stones skipped melodically across the ground. Clouds overhead forebode a heavy rain, but the young woman could not bring herself to abandon her task. For six years, each month on the 26th, she walked to the same spot, laid the same flowers, and said the same prayers to a god she did not believe in.

     She could not break the cycle now.

     Emilynne sighed inwardly, wrapping her coat tighter around her petite figure. She already dreaded the cold, but she could not turn herself back to her estate just yet. It was only a few minutes' walk to the cemetery, not counting the time it took to pick a fresh handful of flowers, though that was hardly worth noting. Each time, she picked the same bouquet of daisies — his favorite. It was a simple, almost mindless task, snapping the stems midway down their stalks and plucking the remaining leaves from them. He always preferred the leaves, but she liked her flowers bare. Sometimes she thought she should leave them, but it was more authentic if she presented them in her traditional fashion, as she had done so many years before.

     Emilynne trekked her way into the estate garden, passing winding rows of hedges and neatly-trimmed rose bushes as she made her way to the center. There stood a small field of white daisies, few left upright after the powerful winds had assaulted them. She pursed her lips, knelt down, and, careful not to dirty her dress in the mud, began her task of snipping the stalks. The wind snarled in her ears; her shoulders grew rigid as she picked. Soon enough, she had gathered a suitable handful of flowers, and she clutched them tightly to her chest as she rose, heels sinking into the mud under her weight.

     She exited the garden with haste, spurred by the bitterly chilling wind at her back. It blew her coat collar around aggressively, slapping her jaw with the thick fabric. She shifted the flowers to one hand and with the other, now free, grabbed her collar and held it fast to her neck, ceasing its flailing. Her eyes wandered the horizon; thick, dark clouds rolled menacingly overhead. They loomed just above the treeline in an impressive display of power. It would pour buckets soon, and if she didn't hurry, she'd be caught in the thick of it. Her fingers curled tighter around the flower stalks and she hunched over just the slightest, sheltering the delicate petals from the wind as she broke into a sprint. Her gait was awkward, long dress catching between her legs, shoes sinking into the damp ground every other step. She could feel the weight of mud dragging down the bottom edges of her dress, which was otherwise light, spun of a high quality fiber that her mother had specially requested. Now it was soiled, but she had half a mind to care at present.

     The first drops of rain fell to the earth as she rounded the drive corner to the city street. The cemetery sat on the outskirts, not farther than a stone's throw from her current position. Her breath came heavy as she pushed herself the last few paces, the entrance gates to the graveyard teasingly close to the exhausted woman. Muddy water splashed around her ankles as her heavy footfalls brought her through the grass. She released her coat collar and flung open the wrought-iron gate, grimacing as it issued a harsh creak.

     The graveyard was a solemn place, untrimmed grass growing wildly around cobblestone-set tombs. Trees were scattered about the place in no particular pattern, some shielding obelisks from the rain, others with roots breaking through old tombstones. The trees here were thick, unlike the thin, wispy trees that bordered the drive to her estate. These ones were well fertilized, holding lots of life within their bark. Emilynne surmised that, had they not been situated in the midst of a cemetery, children would likely have fancied them for climbing. She smiled a little at the thought. Perhaps he had been one to climb trees.

     His tombstone was simple, stark and almost naked in comparison to the elaborate plaques bordering his. While his parents had been well-off, they had both died well before he had, and thus had gotten the majority of the detail in theirs, courtesy of him. He knew his parents deserved honor, both in life and in death.

     "Willis." Emilynne spoke loudly, but her voice was swallowed by the wind. She knelt, knees pressing into the cold, slick stone. "I hope you're resting well. You're with your God now. May He treat you as warmly as you deserve."

     She chewed her lip as the brewing storm picked up, roaring ever louder in her ears. She knew the flowers would be instantly blown away if she set them down now, so she scrambled to find a loose rock to hold them in place. Her nails clawed at the stone, scraping over its wet surface, searching for a crevice. It seemed fruitless; his grave was still only six years old, not nearly old enough to crack. Desperate, she began to scoop handfuls of dirt from the ground, piling it into a mound on his grave and sticking the flowers dead in the center. They bent in the wind, but ultimately stayed put. With hands dirty and limbs tired, Emilynne pushed herself to her feet. Her dress was now coated in mud, from the bottom to the knee, and her hair had come undone from the otherwise neat bun she'd kept it in. Rainwater made her bangs cling to her face; her hair looked stringy and unkempt. Surely her servants would find her a sight when she returned home.

     As she made to leave, she was startled by a sudden voice behind her.

     "What's a lady like you doing here?"