The light of evening sun sinks low in the sky of south-eastern France, the bitter chill of a northern breeze blows through the branches of an English oak tree, long barest of its leaves in the winter months. A light snowfall covers the few evergreen trees and hedges native to the small grounds of the Crematorium Et Cimetière D'Annecy. A woman of above average height with long dark hair pull back into a long tight ponytail approaches, dressed in a thin black three quarter length coat, its collar edged in electric pink is turned up against the wind and threatening snow. She is holding a single Red Tulip in black gloved hands. A matching electric pink belt cinched at the middle complements the outfits matching what appears at first glance to be a pair of calf high boots in the same black and pink, but on closer inspection, these are prosthetics.
She walks with a quite purpose, a steady click-click of her heals on the tarmacked pathway leading to the singular English oak which marks her destination. A single plot lays between similar looking graves flanked either side for some distance, this grave has lain here for some time. Approaching her destination, she takes a moment to look around her surroundings, and to ensure she is alone, revealing her face, an effortlessly beautiful but expressionless mask, but her pale skin is tingled a light blue, perhaps with the cold. But her most surprising feature is the peculiar head piece of a black metallic material featuring many lenses all allowing red, which seemed to sit upon her forehead like a crown.
From inside her coat she draws a simple black handkerchief, before crouching down and clearing the flat marker of it's dusting of alpine snow, before gently laying the single Red Tulip on the marker and standing hands in the pockets of her coat. She ignores the grey granite headstone in which the name of Gerard Lacroix alongside dates of birth and death are carved, all attention instead fixed on the flat grave marker at her feet. For over an hour she stand patiently, quietly observing her yearly ritual. Dark grey Nimbostratus clouds roll slowly overhead, bringing with them fresh alpine snow. Which slowly starts to drift down and settle upon the ground.
With her vigil complete, the Widowmaker turns and leaves, walking along the same tarmacked pathway she came in on, leading slowly back to the cemetery gates, flanking in white walled stone and the Rue Route Du Cimetiere Des Iles. A single black private hire hoover car awaits on the road, it's chauffeur dressed in grey suit and hat stepping out of the vehicle and opening the rear passenger door and allowing it's occupant to enter and take a seat in the back of the vehicle, before it departs slowly down the lane and rounding a bend out of sight to join the Boulevard du Fier.
