C H R Y S A N T H E M U M
- Dim Aldebaran -
It should rain.
—seed the clouds, climate control—
But such things had always been his strong suit, though hers trumped his, in the end.
It was the hottest day on record.
In her hand, wilted white chrysanthemums.
It was the wrong funeral for tears; she should not cry for her brother's brother, her father's son; not her, killer of her beloved's only love.
In death, he looked the vampire he always was, having drunk Dom's soul and cast the body aside.
She let the chrysanthemums fall; ancient, now, from a previous funeral, a previous life.
She didn't like chrysanthemums, anymore.
:i:
Written for the af100 prompt 'intrigue' and the drabble100 prompt of 'death'. 100 words. JB & AF.