by His feet crunched gently against the snow as he walked into the cemetary. It'd been a long time, much too long since the last time he'd been here. He hoped she wouldn't be angry at him.
Letting out a little sigh and watching his breath puff around disinterestedly, Afonka fiddled with the roses in his hands. He hadn't known which ones to get, so he'd decided to get the same ones he'd placed last time. And well, everyone liked roses, didn't they?
Glancing down at the rows and rows of tombstones, his breath caught in his throat as he paused in front of one. Vera Utkil. She'd been six when she died. The same age as his own sister. What if something happened to her? What if something was happening to her right -
Smacking the side of his head to expel the onslaught of negative and morbid thoughts, he sped up his walk, intent on finding the original reason he was here.
And then he did.
Staring down at her grave, his brown eyes began to shine with unshed tears. Falling to his knees, his breathing speeding up despite every effort to slow it down, he placed the roses, magicked to never whiter and die, down.
"Phillie..." he murmured, reaching out with one gloved hand to trace the words. Ophelia Brielle Montague. March 31st 2040 - October 15th 2055. Shaking his head softly, Afonka pulled his hand away, shoving it into his pocket to fish out a thick envelope. Pulling out the parchment, his eyes scanned it for a moment before flicking upwards to the gravestone and back.
Afonka began to read. He told her everything that had happened since last Christmas. He spoke about how he was doing and about how him and Tessa were doing. He talked about people he didn't even think she'd known. He talked about Feliks' bullying and how the boy had just disappeared not long after he'd wished the boy would just die. He spoke of Faye, and how she seemed to be doing better these days. He talked about every little thing he could possibly remember.
The Hrabrost spoke until his voice was hoarse and cracking. But he continued until he was done and had caught the girl who should've been a sixth year Hitrost up. And when he was done, he sat there dully, staring blankly at her grave before placing the letter underneath the roses.
"Merry Christmas, Phille," Afonka said softly, pulling himself up to his feet. "I miss you."
He didn't realize he was crying until he had reached the gate.
Letting out a little sigh and watching his breath puff around disinterestedly, Afonka fiddled with the roses in his hands. He hadn't known which ones to get, so he'd decided to get the same ones he'd placed last time. And well, everyone liked roses, didn't they?
Glancing down at the rows and rows of tombstones, his breath caught in his throat as he paused in front of one. Vera Utkil. She'd been six when she died. The same age as his own sister. What if something happened to her? What if something was happening to her right -
Smacking the side of his head to expel the onslaught of negative and morbid thoughts, he sped up his walk, intent on finding the original reason he was here.
And then he did.
Staring down at her grave, his brown eyes began to shine with unshed tears. Falling to his knees, his breathing speeding up despite every effort to slow it down, he placed the roses, magicked to never whiter and die, down.
"Phillie..." he murmured, reaching out with one gloved hand to trace the words. Ophelia Brielle Montague. March 31st 2040 - October 15th 2055. Shaking his head softly, Afonka pulled his hand away, shoving it into his pocket to fish out a thick envelope. Pulling out the parchment, his eyes scanned it for a moment before flicking upwards to the gravestone and back.
Afonka began to read. He told her everything that had happened since last Christmas. He spoke about how he was doing and about how him and Tessa were doing. He talked about people he didn't even think she'd known. He talked about Feliks' bullying and how the boy had just disappeared not long after he'd wished the boy would just die. He spoke of Faye, and how she seemed to be doing better these days. He talked about every little thing he could possibly remember.
The Hrabrost spoke until his voice was hoarse and cracking. But he continued until he was done and had caught the girl who should've been a sixth year Hitrost up. And when he was done, he sat there dully, staring blankly at her grave before placing the letter underneath the roses.
"Merry Christmas, Phille," Afonka said softly, pulling himself up to his feet. "I miss you."
He didn't realize he was crying until he had reached the gate.
» testing testing
» HOGWARTS REGENERATED CONFESSIONS
» Character Development
» RL Picture Show Extravaganza
» A Place to Put the Things
» Miscellaneous Poetry
» A poem ^^
» Fail Thread