**Warnings: Possible OOCness, disturbing things and ideas, and the like. If this is not your taste, feel free to hit the back button and move on. If you like, keep reading when I add another chapter. Feel free to leave critique as well. Enjoy. **
Graveyards. What is there to say about graveyards?
One could probably list only three things.
They're full of dead people.
They're dull and dreary.
They have a stereotype of being associated with Halloween.
Those things are true, yes. But has anyone considered them to be anything else?
Probably not.
It's hard to think anything else about a plot of land full of dead bodies, rotting corpses, and skeletons. But, that's what normal people think.
Rosalina, on the other hand, was not a normal person.
"It's sad, that we have lost a sweet gentleman of the city," Rosalina's eyes closed as she sighed, folding her pale hands against her chest, "but we need not to mourn for long. Mister Bonnefoy is no longer suffering from his depression, and is happily reunited in the afterlife with his sweet wife, Emily."
Turquoise irises darted around the gathering, watching all the attendees as they sat and listened to her. The man's grandchildren in the front sniffled and hiccupped, one boy rubbing his nose violently with his blazer sleeve. Behind them, the man's own children sat with their spines straightened. One of his daughters dabbed at her eyes, his son stone faced and attempting to keep his composure. The other daughter looked at the ground, shoulders shaking as she proceeded to cry. Friends of the diseased male nodded in agreement with the platinum blonde, a few adding to the symphony of mourning.
"Of course, sadness is a natural feeling when we lose something dear to ourselves. That may not be much, coming from a funeral director and overseer of Gusty Garden Funeral Home. But I feel your pain, each and every one of you." She rubbed at her eyes, letting the black lace of her sleeves irritate them.
Mock sadness.
Inside, she was scoffing at the sorry crowd, glad that she charged for boxes of tissues.
"If anyone else wishes to speak about Francis, please, feel free to do so." She invited, holding her arms to the audience as if beckoning someone to speak. Her smoothed lips curled into a sad smile, an attempt to hold back a disgusted sneer she wanted to make at the idea of someone else trying to form cheesy sentences in between annoying sobs and blowing noses.
Thankfully, no one wanted to stand up and talk.
"Well, if we have no other words to say, let's put this man to rest." Rosalina stepped down from her podium, turning away from the crowd to roll her eyes and huff. She questioned when this would be over, and how long it would be until every relative and friend of the old coot would leave.
"Mm hmm hmm hmm!" Giggles emanated from a dug-up grave, fancy rings and cuff links set aside in the grass, soon joined by a pendant the dead man had treasured so much.
Rosalina's dirt covered head appeared, sighing as she looked over the old man one more time, "It's silly how many of you bastards think it's wise to be buried with so many valuable things." She sneered, slamming the upper coffin lid closed, standing on it so she could also close the bottom half. "Don't they know it will rot with their bodies and become ruined with their skeletons?"
She heaved herself from the grave, jumping up and brushing herself off before snagging the nearby shovel, "I'll let you return to your dirt nap now, Bonnefoy." Rosalina hummed, carelessly swishing in her first spade full of cold dirt.
It was the second part of her routine that she hated.
She inwardly cursed how much work all this was, but then reminded herself of all the benefits she earned from her deeds. She could already feel the warm fuzzies of seeing her bank account increase in numbers, estimating her haul from the old man to be worth about five fifty.
Just as she was about to finish filling the grave, a black bird fluttered down and landed next to her small pile of loot. Snarling, Rosalina threw a fistful of dirt and the animal, "Get lost, you squawking rat."
The bird flinched at the dirt, jerking its head around to look at her. It cocked its head, opening it ebony beak to let a small chirp sound.
"I said get lost!" She kicked at the bird, "You don't have anything to do around here, go shit on some car."
Seemingly offended, the blackbird swooped its head around and knelt down to the pile. He pinched one of the man's rings in its beak, lifting it up and glaring back at Rosalina—as if it were taunting to take it.
The woman's eyes widened, "You drop that now. That's mine."
The blackbird crowed again before spinning around, taking a couple of leaps forward before jumping and flapping its wings, ascending into the air and away from the angered female.
"Hey!" Rosalina snatched a rock from the grass, throwing it after the bird, "Come back with that ring you piece of shit! I said come back with that ring!"
The bird flew on, up and over the line of dark trees on the other side of the graveyard wall.
Grumbling, Rosalina stooped down and snatched up the rest of the items, "Stupid birds...I hope he chokes on that ring and dies."
She stood up straight, hugging the items to her stomach before rushing away to the gate.
There was money to be earned.