|11 november 2023. France, Paris, Père-Lachaise Cemetery. |
Aramis POV.
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Dream. It must be just a dream. I can't just stand here—I thought, as grief constricted my heart repeatedly—cruel and relentless.
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A dream?
Could this all be a dream? What if I wake up any moment now? The pressure of tears, struggling to escape, burned like the fires of hell, but I refused to let them fall.
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No... Not even the dead could sleep through such torment.
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I must accept that this is a harsh reality, no matter how detached I feel from it. There is no escape. The first drops of rain mingled with the salty streams on my pale skin. Sharp, icy droplets pierced my eyes. Increasing intensity, the sound resembling the hum of an enraged swarm. Yet, despite the cleansing scent of petrichor, the fragrance of lilies remained overpowering. Their creamy chalices adorned the solemn wreaths, each flower a fragile symbol of our fleeting existence.
– Raphael truly loved lilies – said in an undertone.
I began to hate them at that moment , when I realized I lost everything that was most precious to me. I couldn't remain indifferent.
– This is what hell smells like – I muttered, my breath trembling as I rubbed my nose.
I didn't stand among the mourners - I couldn't. I was denied this privilege. Furthermore, I watched the ceremony from the shadows of the alley – hidden like the grim reaper.
The combined scent of incense and lily swayed around me like an unholy snake, tightening like a noose and refusing to leave my lungs. This instilled in me a desperate need to pray and repeat the verses after the priest - fuelling a hopeless rage. I was getting more and more irritated by the second.
Looking at the passing mourners, passing me like a shadow.
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Greedy, fake funeral guests paraded as if on a fashion runway—every move was a calculated display for the photographers present. The spectacle not only highlighted the shallowness of Parisian and Foreign elite’s vultures but also transformed into a grotesque circus that barely scratched the surface of the unfolding tragedy. This farce was merely the beginning, intended to ostentatiously overshadow genuine sorrow. Amidst this theatrical performance, I stood unnoticed, my presence was ignored. At one point, I was roughly pushed backward by the butler.
– What the Hell is wrong with You ! ? – Tearing my forearm away from butler
*
The rain slowed its dance. The droplets, like notes of a melancholic melody, began to fade in my ears. Then, I saw a familiar black umbrella with silver trim, held by the investigator, Samara Kamari. Her gentle smile contrasted with the sadness welling in her tiger-like eyes—kindness, understanding, compassion. Different from the other mourners. I sensed sincerity in her – she walked with grace, coming to stand beside me with equal elegance.
We stood between two towering oak trees, their ancient branches reaching over the cemetery like watchful guardians, silently keeping the place in order. Samara and I exchanged a long, motionless gaze. The minutes stretched on. A light fog crept among the gravestones and crypts, swirling gently around the gathered mourners. When it reached the priest, its ghostly touch caused his voice to falter, taking on a nervous, unsteady rhythm. The wind still carried the cloying scent of those cursed lilies toward me, a scent so overwhelming it felt like a punishment—a terrible, inescapable odor.
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I wanted it to be just a dream. I still desperately wish it were.
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– What would he say if he were here?-- Samara asked softly, nodding slightly in my direction– How would Raphael react, seeing you so far from the grave ?
– I don't know – My voice is devoid of emotion.
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If only she hadn’t spoken. Damn it. She should have stayed silent. She needlessly shattered that fragile boundary between dream and reality, destroying my secret wish entirely when she uttered that one name.
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Raphael... Raphael. Damn it!
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As the letters formed in my mind, spelling out that name, Samara handed me a photography —a personal one, from my family album. How many did she have? Why this one?
The longer I stared at the photo, the more I longed to relive that moment.
– Like giants from biblical tales, they tower above us and the crowd. Raphael towered over his peers – Samara added – As a leader should, he led the archangels to victory.
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– Raphael – I whispered, clutching the edges of the photograph tightly – Where the hell did you get this? – asked with angrily.
– It belongs to your mother, Aramis – she said, placing hand on my arm – We have several photos from the family of one of the deceased boys from the deadly trip.
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I lifted my eyes to the heavy, gray sky. What are the heavens playing at? Wrong, what Hell is playing at.
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–Tell me... Has Raphael exhibited any strange behavior in the last few months? Remember, any detail could bring us closer to solving this case. Mrs. Calandra mentioned you might be... a valuable source of such information.Aramis ?
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I froze and didn't hear her voice. That’s when I noticed a figure hidden in the crowd, emerging just for me. An elegant blonde woman with pale-rose skin and eyes like two precious sapphires—an empty ocean. A woman bearing on her vacant face the mask of a mother and demon. Miss Samari, like many others here, had no idea who she truly was.
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My stepmother. The Leviathan among women, Calandra S. Cetus.
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All attention was focused on my stepmother, the architect of the chaos I was ensnared in. Her false sadness and feigned dignity, as she paraded before the gullible crowd while I was relegated to the outskirts of the cemetery, were unacceptable and deserving of scorn.As final condolences were offered to her, the public seemed oblivious to the true gravity of Raphael's death. None of the guests acknowledged me. The same individuals who should have shown respect and solidarity were preoccupied with their own agendas. The stark contrast between their superficial concern and my profound grief was further underscored by an invitation to a lavish feast—an event that offered no genuine tribute to my brother's memory.Mourners dressed in the latest fashion barely concealed their desire to be the center of attention as they headed to their exclusive limousines. The tragedy had become a contentious opportunity for self-promotion rather than a moment of authentic mourning
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Then I felt a tug—it was Samara, pulling me back to reality.
– It's not the time for daydreams,boy – She was right.
– That doesn’t change the fact that you could have spared me – I retorted.
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Samara congeal. She withdrew her hand cautiously and tucked it into her pocket. She sighed. She could have said something, but instead, she walked towards her partner, who was waiting nearby. She left with him. Only for a split second did I follow her with my eyes. there was something about him that I only saw in my stepmother, his posture and movements and the way he looked at me.
Pure danger.
*
[ Some time after. ]
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– What did she want from you?
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Unexpectedly, help came to me on its own. It manifested as Raphael’s fiancée, Spencer Howe.
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– What did she want from you?
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Unexpectedly, help came to me on its own. It manifested as Raphael’s fiancée, Spencer Howe.
– Ara? Are you alright?-- she added, puzzled by my reaction.
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– Am ,Spencer, you slay in black – I blurted out like an idiot. It’s a funeral, for God’s sake! And she and her soul belong to my brother.
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Spencer adjusted her vintage velvet blazer. The flame of her hair brightened the grayness of the place. She stretched the word out, pretending nothing had been said.
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– She wanted me to tell her everything... about the days and months leading up to his death.
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– And for that, she came to the funeral? Do I understand that right?-- Spencer said indignantly.
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I saw the nature of her two-toned eyes change—calm violet and wild green, both untamed.
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On the other hand, was plotting something in her mind. She remained unmoved. I cleared my throat. And when the last person left this part of the cemetery, I moved. I thought I would be strong. I grasped the precious cross on my chest, tightened my fingers, and walked. I sank into the clay, following the worn steps of those who had been here moments ago.
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But the pain and helplessness made my legs heavy. Grief caused me to collapse before the grave—a void.
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Spencer rushed over then. I fell apart. I don’t know how else to describe it.
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--Aramis! -- she cried out.
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My head dropped to the ground. We were both shattered, drowning in sorrow. Spencer, succumbing to her longing, glanced secretly at the last gift my brother had given her. The Peruvian minerals he had chosen to protect her... did he sense he was going to leave?
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-But it’s not your fault. Whatever happened was a cruel twist of fate. Cruel because it took someone we both loved. He was a miracle. And I desperately want to know what happened... -- She fell silent, wiping away more tears.
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"Like the seven before, this won’t be easy. Since I joined this family, I started something. Something that even took my father from me."
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Kneeling in the soggy earth, I placed my hands on my thighs. My raven hair obscured my face. I felt her brush my tears away. I turned my face away from her touch. If I accepted it, I would start battling my heart again. She withdrew.
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I could feel the energy radiating from my brother's portrait. The same energy he used to set boundaries. He was here—differently. I must be mad.
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Definitely.
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Then, one of the lily chalices lifted, rising toward the sky.
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