Prelude
September was a slow month. The autumn leaves rustled and ricocheted in the autumn winds. As the month concluded, the nights began to last longer than the days. The flowers began to wither and the animals were readying themselves for hibernation. The early afternoon skies reddened and the climate began to change. A warm kiss of sunlight on the land in the morning was now a touch of frost. Yet this period of dormancy that Autumn marked had an affect on most people. In a way, out of death came beauty.
But beauty in death is not always ubiquitous.
In a subdued ceremony, a small, solemn audience of mourners sauntered to the cemetery behind four black Yoshis drawing a carriage carrying a simple wooden coffin with its lid nailed shut. Behind the funeral carriage, leading the way to the cemetery, was a tall woman wearing a black velvet cloak with the hood pulled up, partially obscuring her wretched face. On one side to her was a shorter man in a similar black cloak, and on the other a Toad who was around forty-five years their senior.
They stopped at a secluded plot among the oak trees. Horns played the famous funeral march as the pallbearers descended the coffin into the plot. While a spiritual leader prayed for a safe journey into the afterlife for the deceased, the closest people to the deceased sprinkled earth over the buried coffin, while the rest of the mourners threw red camellias into the plot. When they left, the closest people remained at the plot. They stared at the wooden box below their feet, without crying because their loss was a silent grief. It took all their inner strength to say what was needed:
Goodbye, Mario.