Prologue Draft

Antonio let out dreary coughs from the opposing side of the room. Abel knew he lived in a world where he had to begin writing the eulogy the moment Antonio became feverish. Mind you, it wasn't a fine one. Abel never anticipated writing something as such anytime soon, as a result, it certainly wasn't one of his best works. A young woman with blonde hair resembling his sat beside Antonio and rubbed a damp cloth across his temperate forehead, trying to see his face through the tears that blurred her vision. She had naught but a pair of old goggles pulling the short curls from her face. Every once in a while, a quiet sob or a barely suppressed cough will break the silence of the room. Feathery candlelight allowed the grimy walls of the small square room to creep into view, as well as the hard-wooden floors and the lack of furniture. Abel looked down at his crinkled paper, which bore the writing he created but detested, in discomfort. He wiped the remaining ink residue from his hands onto his coat. The towering man's ungloved hands were as clean as they were going to get.

"If anything, the fever is getting worse. It seems like we are helping him only to help ourselves." Emeline uttered while turning around, though still sitting on her knees. This slightly put Abel off, as Emeline wasn't a cynical person.

He ran his fingers stressfully through his short, though disheveled hair, which needed a wash. Abel uttered a monotone 'hm' of acknowledgement. Emeline sighed airily and continued tending to Antonio in vain. She was greatly upset at the seemingly distant attitude of her older brother in this rather arduous and hopeless situation. Needless to say, he dealt with his internal struggles on his own.

Abel knew his sister needed him, thus he hauled himself across the floor and to her side. "I'll resume minding him. I believe you should join Lovino in the pews. You haven't had rest in some time." he said, his voice bearing the same serious tone as usual. Emeline was fatigued, and refused to argue. She complied before slowly rising to her feet, her shins aching with every step she took towards the door and away from the two men. One of which had nappy brown hair that was slick with sweat and sickness. Minutes passed and the room was taciturn once more. Abel was sure Emeline was mourning with their friend, Lovino. He peered upon Antonio's face, then proceeded to rip the paper into small chunks of failure, which drifted slowly through the air and found their resting place on the ground.

"Writing and bearing something as such was lowering you into the ground more so than any sickness would." Said Abel, who's core and existence felt as the once-intact eulogy. Antonio responded in tranquil, yet insentient breaths. nothing more. Abel's hazel gaze lazily moved along the room as he waited.

Thick silence saturated the atmosphere, as Abel De Vos didn't break it once more.