There were no tears at her funeral, no reminiscences of old times, no laughter, no crowds of people, not even a single prayer, only a terrible silence. Ten people gathered there that day to stare as they placed her broken body into a ditch, an eternal smile still frozen in rigor mortis on her face. She had trusted them, believed in them, knowing that they could never return the favor. They said they didn't care, that they were not the angels she thought they were, that they were cold-blooded killers, but she never bothered to listen. She had loved and treasured them, and they, in turn, in what would later perhaps be perceived as weakness, had done the same.
Everyone knows that all happy stories must come to an end, and none know it better than the villains. Still, somehow, the smile of a condemned fool forced them to betray logic and break down their stony walls - it made the sudden departure all the more painful. It was their own fault, they admitted; they had known the inevitable outcome. But leaving that hill, not a soul regretted it, though they might claim otherwise if asked. In the end, nine didn't notice, or perhaps didn't care, that the tenth was left behind.
"I'm sorry," the man apologized, removing the orange and black swirled mask to pay respect to the body, "but it was necessary. You had to disappear. The others were becoming soft."
The figure sighed, it was pointless to talk to the dead, yet part of him was relieved by this simple confession. He stuffed a letter back into his pocket, and picked up the mask fitted it to his face, "Besides, this is for the best." He smiled, "You wouldn't have been able to handle what's coming next." The man sighed, his true personality showing one last time as his mask fell completely into place, "I'm sure you'd understand. After all, Tobi's a good boy."
With those final words he carved an epitaph. He chose his words carefully, knowing that he would never see her again:
"Shira,
An Angel among Demons"