#mourning rites

The day of the funeral and here he is, adjusting his cufflinks before closing the car door behind him. There is something of newness in the air, the sweet smell of flowers staining the wind. Maeve Petre’s funeral, and it seems most of Verona is in attendance. Or at the very least, those who matter.

And arriving almost in tandem with him-

“Santino.” The name leaves his lips smoothly, a hint of surprise beneath the even tone- or perhaps that is feigned too, Faron’s eyes glitter with nothing but amusement. “Hello there.”