Epilogue timeeee!
Weezie rarely visited her father's grave. She had avoided the cemetery at all costs, not wanting a painful reminder of her sister and her father's death. But now, now that First Warren was free from its tyrannical oppressors, she felt like she owed it to her father and her sister.
The saddest thing is, Weezie thought, placing a bundle of yellow flowers next to her sister's grave. Is that we didn't bury them together.
She walked through the rows and rows of graves, unfamiliar names etched onto the cracked stone. Some names were completely worn away from erosion or completely covered in ivy and moss. It was almost tragic, their names erased forever for no one to remember.
She stopped in front of her father's grave, a small smile on her lips when she saw that some purple flowers had been placed there. Every single time, in the few occasions she went to the cemetery, there were always fresh flowers.
As a child, she had asked her mother where they came from, and Airen had responded with a mysterious, forlorn, "He still remembers your father." Layra had advised Weezie to never ask again.
She crouched and picked the flowers up. They were hyacinths.
They symbolize regret, Weezie thought absentmindedly.
"Come to visit a loved one too?" said a voice behind her.
She stood up quickly and whirled around, shifting into a defensive position.
The buck behind her smiled slightly. "No need for that," he said. "I'm just heading to my sister's grave."
"Oh," Weezie said, relaxing. "Sorry. You scared me."
The buck smiled. "You're Airen's daughter, aren't you?"
"Yeah," Weezie said cautiously. "Were you part of Cap's resistance?"
"Since I was a little kid," the buck said. "I'm Whit."
The name sparked a foggy memory in the back of Weezie's brain, of his father and mother talking about someone or something. She shook it off, attributing to the air of melancholy and nostalgia in the cemetery.
"Weezie, but you probably already knew that," Weezie said, smiling crookedly. "So, your sister. Did she..."
"I don't know how she died," Whit said, shaking his head, glancing around the cemetery. He sighed. "Didn't find her body either, just had her reported missing and there was a funeral the next day."
"I'm sorry," Weezie said softly. "My sister...well...she was just grabbed one day. We were told she was dead. And for the longest time, I hoped that she would return-maybe even with my father-and we would be a whole family again."
"I understand the feeling," Whit said, glancing at Weezie's father's grave. "Hyacinths. They symbolize regret."
"Yeah," Weezie said. "My father, he was really invested in the flower language."
"I know," Whit said softly, almost too quiet for Weezie to hear.
"What did you say?" Weezie said accusingly, with narrowed eyes.
"Nothing," Whit said hastily.
"No, what did you say?" Weezie demanded, poking Whit in the chest. "You said something about my father."
Whit stared at her briefly, before his unscarred eye fixated on the grave behind her. He walked up to it, a strange expression on his face.
"How'd your father die?" he said almost softly.
"Mother won't talk about it, but from what I gathered, the Black Band killed him. How does that answer my question?"
"Yeah," Whit said softly. "There was a fight. Snoden...he told me to run. So I did, and he got killed."
"What?" Weezie stared, wide-eyed.
Whit smiled slightly. "Snoden was a good rabbit, Weezie," he said. "He saved my life, and I'll never stop blaming myself for his death."
"You've been the one putting the flowers here," Weezie said, tears stinging her eyes. "Hyacinths. Regret."
Whit turned to face her again. "I'm sorry," he said, bowing slightly. "I'm the reason why you're fatherless, and why the Black Band targeted your family so much. There's probably nothing I'll do to ever make it up to you."
Weezie watched as he walked away, head down. He vanished around the corner, the fog making him disappear from her vision. The wind picked up and the hyacinths scattered at Snoden's grave began flying around.
She caught one in the air and held it up.
Regret.
*finger guns*
I teared up writing this
in other news, this fic is now finished! yaaaay! weird how such a random idea could prompt me to write this :)
so I've been interested in the language of flowers for a long time, and specifically purple hyacinths are usually attributed to regret, sorrow, and melancholy. I debated whether the flowers should be lilies (which are often attributed with death) but I chose hyacinths since it fit the mood better.
