Red Roses on a Red Grave
The bell atop the city clock tower chimed in the distance, marking the new hour. It was cold, and dreary today, and thick, dark clouds covered the sad sun, leaving the sky an overcast gray. Despite the bleak appearance of the sky, there hadn't been rain earlier, and there likely wouldn't be any later on either. It was just the weather. It was always like this. Always grey, always solemn, always foreboding. A miserable sadness, a depressing excuse for normal weather.
The scene that loomed ahead mirrored the gloominess. An old chapel could be seen through a thin layer of fog, centered within a field of graves that was the cemetery. It was empty of people, and a cloud of sorrow and eeriness hung over it. A cloud thicker than the ones that filled the sky with darkness. The only sound was the wind whisping through the blades of grass that could definitely use a trim.
Suddenly, though, a terrible noise cut through the silent air. It was the sound of an old metal gate being pushed open. It lasted for a few seconds, before it stopped and was followed by the near inaudible sound of someone's feet walking through the grass and the rustle of soft petals.
A figure, slender, and of average height wearing a long, black coat made her way towards a grave that lay in the shade, beneath a large tree. A bouquet of red roses was held to her heart, and they matched the red bow that tied back her hair--normally crimson--but currently colored a plain shade of brown.
She stopped now, standing in front of the headstone. The crisp green grass was decorated with flowers. Most were wilted and old, but there was a small bouquet that had been freshly placed. But they weren't red, and she found it upsetting.
Her bright green eyes misted with sorrow and with love. For a moment, she stood and read the engraving.
Angelina Dalles-Burnett
"Madame Red"
1854-1888
She hung her head, blinking away tears. To any perceiver, it looked like she would be sending her sincere love, to any perceiver it looked like a butler in the mourning color of black, standing at the grave, paying her respects to whom she had once loved. No one would ever guess this was her fault. No one would ever guess her hands were the ones painted red with this woman's blood. That she was the one who had cruelly severed this woman's life.
She had been blinded by rage when she had committed the murder. But that was no excuse for what she had done. She'd gone against more rules than the law itself, and she'd been suspended from her job due to it.
She didn't think she had ever regretted something so much as she regretted this. She stood still, gazing at the dull grey headstone that would never suit the woman who lie at rest in the casket buried six feet beneath the green grass.
She drew in a deep breath and knelt down to carefully place the red roses on the grave, before standing up to her full height. And she began to speak.
"It may be too late to tell you this now...but I hope you know how sorry I am. I don't deserve forgiveness and don't expect it, but I want to say it anyway so you know that I'm being sincere.
I really did love you, Madame Red. I loved you more than you could ever know. The first and only woman I have ever loved." A lump formed in her throat. "Everything about you was beautiful, not just your hair, your eyes, and your clothes. Everything. Your personality, especially. Despite that you made me wear an atrocious disguise…" she stifled a small laugh, "No one had ever been so kind to me before. No one had ever accepted me as I am as much as you did."
Tears pricked her eyes.
"I was...wrong...to do what I did...very, very wrong. I deprived the world of someone very special.
"I won't ever forget you. You will always hold a special place in my heart. And I...will always admire you...Angelina. I'll admire your passion...your courage...and I'll...apply it to every aspect of my life…"
She sniffled, tears slowly began to trickle down her face.
"And your coat I always wear...will be cared for and loved just as I should have cared and loved you.
...Your death wasn't in vain...I've learned from it and I've learned from you. You'll still inspire me and be a part of what I do."
"...And if...by chance...by some mad, slim chance...I am some how able to bear a child one day…"
She trailed off again and sniffled, wiping the tears from her eyes and shaking her head.
"...I'm so sorry, Angelina!" at this point she was wailing and sobbing. Her knees hit the soggy ground and she knelt in front of the grave and let tears fall.
For several moments she knelt there, letting the dew-covered grass soak and stain the knees of her trousers as she cried.
She was a fool. A psychotic, terrible fool who had killed someone so special to her in cold blood simply because she was angry and possessed by ravaging bloodlust.
What sort of butler murders their master? A useless butler who shouldn't even be alive in the first place, that's the sort of butler she was.
Grell, you sadistic, disgusting little b*tch. Guilt nagged the back of her mind. Self-hatred stung her more painfully than it had in a long time. Anger seared through her.
If only she could go back and time. But alas, she couldn't. What was done was done. She couldn't turn back the clock no matter how badly she wanted to.
Someone she had loved both platonically and sincerely was gone because of her. And there was nothing she could do to bring her back.
However, for evermore, Madame Red's legacy could live on through her. It was her responsibility to be inspired by her, and to make the red woman was a part of everything she did. And she would make sure of that. For a bittersweet evermore she would.
Her tears ran dry. She wiped them away, and then sniffled. She forced a smile. She felt a bit better now.
She lifted her head, and once again reread the headstone. She pulled the red ribbon from her hair and let it fall loose down her back. Then, she tied it at the base beneath the engraving. She smiled warmly.
"There, now that's more like you." she said affectionately. Then she sighed deeply and blinked away a couple of tiny tears.
"Rest in peace, Madame Red." Grell murmured. And with that, she stood. And then she turned and walked away, but not before glancing over her shoulder and smiling.
...Because she swore she saw a faded figure of the lady in red, smiling back at her with her red lips, gazing with her red eyes, with the wind ruffling through her short red hair.
A/N: Meh, I wanted an excuse to describe scenery and mood and analyze Grell's character a bit, and throw in a tad bit of symbolism. So that happened.There'll be a companion piece to this uploaded at some point as well.