Robin said she was his future, but he was wrong.
Whatever future she had, or foolishly allowed herself to hope for, was wrapped in funeral whites, resting silently inside the shining teak box lowering into the ground before her eyes.
She may have been his future, but he was never hers.
She thought of burying him in her mausoleum, adding his name to the long list of those she has loved and lost, but he never belonged behind stone walls. This was right, laying him to rest surrounded by the fresh scent of pine and damp earth, somewhere the sun could shine and warm his bones instead of tucked away in cold marble.
She can't bring herself to cry, not here, with everyone gathered under funeral-black umbrellas watching her every move. Their eyes bore into the back of her spine, slither along her limbs, and burn across her face, searching for any sign, waiting for the walls to crack and the Queen to be released.
But she's better than that.
Emma is weeping beside her, deep shattering sobs punctuated by watery gasping hiccups of breath. If the rain hadn't already soaked the ground, Emma certainly would have. Snow and Charming linger a foot behind their daughter, standing solid and silent in their grief. At least they've had the decency to allow her this, unnecessary though it may be.
They all expect her to be full of simmering rage, for the madness it took 28 years and the love of one precious little boy to lock away to come crawling back complete with fireball fingers and manic eyes. She has lost love before and it made her do unspeakable things, but now she has lost a piece of her soul and all she feels is numb.
Her fingers slide into the pile of earth mounded at her feet, fist filling with soil that is not quite dry, but not quite mud as she steps up to the gaping mouth of the grave. For a moment she debates throwing herself into the hole, allowing the dirt to cover her, sealing her below with the one she loves, but she lets the thought slip away, falling from her mind as the dirt tumbles from her loosening fingers leaving a muddy smear on her hand.
One by one the others step forward, filling the grave with scattered handfuls of earth before turning and trudging away until only the family remains. They should go, she should go, but she can't bring herself to leave. She can't return home to her too big house that will never be filled, she can't turn and face the waiting future that he will never be in.
"Come on love, let's go home." His voice is soft and warm, it claws through the numbness, carving out a little light in the expanding void.
She nods, attempting to give him a ghost of a smile, though she can't feel if her face has moved at all. He said she was his future, and now he is all that is left of hers.
His hand slides to the small of her back as he tries to guide her away, but she stops; she still has one thing left to say. Handing him her umbrella she steps out into the continuing spray of rain, plucking her gloves off as she moves away from him back toward the grave.
She raises her fingers to her lips, then presses them to the stone in a final goodnight kiss.
"Goodbye, my Little Prince."