Work Text:
The old grave by the southern entrance was well-tended. A tattered note declared happy birthday in sun-faded script.
Shadowheart paused to peer at the name etched in stone.
Allister Marnley
Loss knocked on well-traversed floorboards in her mind. Quiet, unassuming grief slipped over her shoulders like a familiar sweater, the cuffs frayed, knit gone thin with wear.
Shadowheart’s hands twitched, as if searching for the shape of a lockpick, the stealthy weight of a lifted purse.
She plucked at the flower tucked behind her ear, and placed the bloom upon Allister’s gravestone.
He’d taught, then been forgotten.
How very Sharran.