No matter how badly your heart is broken, the world does not stop for your grief.
She always visited their funerals.
Slipping past all the tearful mourners, Leena made her way through the gravestones and plots. Studying the many graves, making sure not to dirty her shoes, she knelt in front of a particularly fresh one. Tracing the name engraved in stone, she reached into her satchel. Pulling out a handful of violets, she examined them. Pausing, she unfolded some of the petals, smoothing the flowers out. Finally satisfied, she laid them out on the dirt, propping them against the stone.
Standing up, she brushed the loose dirt on her knees. Walking carefully over the adjoining graves, Leena wandered towards the church.
Located on the edge of the cemetery, the perfume of candle wax and lilies spilled away from the double-sided doors. Stepping into the cathedral, Lenna studied the pews, prancing down the aisle to the front. Settling herself down on the front pew she straightened her ankles, placing her lace covered wrists in her lap. A priest stood close by, rosary beads in hand, fixing the angle of a Virgin Mary statuette. He nodded at her.
Absentmindedly smoothing the folds in her dress, Leena didn't hear footsteps behind her.
So, when she heard the slow rumbling chuckle beside her, it was safe to say that she was startled. That disgusted Esther.
Esther wasn't startled.
Esther was aware.
Esther was angry at stupid, stupid Leena for being startled. For coming to the cemetery. For putting herself in a situation where she could be caught.
Everything about the man standing next to her was dark. Every article of clothing he was wearing was varied shades of black. Leena didn't find this strange. She was in a church, by a graveyard, after a funeral. Black was customary.
What she did find strange was the stark white color of his skin, pale and almost milky white, coupled with the dark shadows under his eyes. He didn't seem emaciated or starving, which might have explained the color (or lack thereof) of his skin. If anything, he seemed to be cold.
No, that wasn't right.
More like he was radiating cold.
He was watching her, dark eyes crinkled in amusement. His fingers drummed a tune on the chair. Standing there, he seemed to be waiting for her to say something.
Giving him a last definitive sniff, she turned her head back to dirt.
"Was he special to you?" She heard him ask. Perhaps in other company, he would have sounded sympathetic. Questioning. However, Leena happened to know a thing or two about people, and how courteous they could act. His voice was laced with bitter enjoyment, his words spoken out of an informative query.
How rude.
She should correct the situation.
"My father, yes. I miss him so much," Esther said, smiling sadly up at him, voice reverting to a soft, sweet hum.
Smirking, he leaned further on the pew. She felt his gaze trail along her body. A thick, sickly taste clouded her mouth. Had he recognized her? It was possible. What should she do? Suddenly she was hyperaware of the pocketknife in the pocket of her satchel, and how difficult it was to grab.
However, the man didn't seem to be looking at her in observation. Instead, he seemed to be looking at the lace and frothy gauze of her dress, raising one dark eyebrow at the white tights, the ribbon in her hair.
Oh. Maybe he was that kind of man.
A new tone stole into her voice. "Sir, do you need anything? Directions? Help?" Want anything?
Ignoring her questions, he knelt down until they were eye level, "You know what they say about death?
Death borders upon our birth, and our cradle stands in the grave." He gestured towards her frills. "And that your demons," his mouth curled, "Will always come back to haunt you."
"I've never heard that one," Leena murmured. "But I have heard that to know a person is to know that she's developed into a devil...so in order to know her is to accept an angelic demon."
She was meeting his eyes.
His countenance changed, as if he'd seen something hiding above the freckles and gray-green eyes.
She smiled.
"I'll have to be going, sir. My little sister will be wondering where I went."
Grabbing up her satchel from the floor of the church, she threw him another glance.
He had the funniest expression, a mix of annoyance and silent hilarity. As if their entire meeting had been planned for his own amusement. All at once, the church seemed too calm, too quiet. Where was the priest from before? Wouldn't he be worried for the little girl left alone on the pew? Wouldn't he be worried? For Esther?
Of course he would, except that Esther wasn't there.
Leena was.
It was Leena who left without a goodbye.
Leena who backtracked her way through the cemetery and out the back road.
Leena who caught the bus with the image of the man, the man who spoke of demons and death, in her mind.
Lenna. Stupid, stupid Leena.