[✔️] 𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑁𝐾 𝐹𝐴𝑆𝑇 | 𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

𝐒𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓
"𝑁𝑜 𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛—𝑛𝑜 𝑣𝑖𝑜𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝐼 𝑏𝑒𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢! 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒!"
—𝐴𝑟𝑡ℎ𝑢𝑟 𝐶𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑛 𝐷𝑜𝑦𝑙𝑒, 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐴𝑑𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑀𝑎𝑧𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛 𝑆𝑡𝑜𝑛𝑒

𝐈
— 𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑎 —

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 jackets and two umbrellas from the closet (hers being black, and his being transparent with an outline of pink), Mara and Klaus joined everyone else as they filed into the courtyard.

Rain pounded against their umbrellas, slipping off of the edges and wettening the ground. It was darker out now, the sun being shielded by the grey clouds that piled up overhead. From a few metres away stood Ben's statue, raindrops glistening off of the figure.

They all trudged through the damp grass, following Luther, who had the glossy urn clutched tightly in his hands.

Mara, noticing that Diego had opted out of taking an umbrella, gave a small sigh and lifted hers so that it was covering both of them as they headed toward the middle of the courtyard.

He glanced her way with a questioning look, and she muttered, "I don't want you to get sick."

Diego quirked an eyebrow, using the back of his hand to wipe away some of the rain that was dripping into his eye. A small grin came onto his face. "'Cause you care about me?"

"No," she said stiffly, her cheeks beginning to burn despite the cold weather, "because then you'll get me sick."

"Mhm." He gave a dubious nod, his eyebrows raised at her. She just rolled her eyes and turned her gaze back in front of her.

Grace looked around at them as they all settled around Luther, registering their mournful expressions and dark attire. Her eyebrows furrowed in worry as she frowned. "Did something happen?

"Dad died," Allison reminded her, her eyebrows knitting together tightly. "Remember?"

"Oh." Grace's concerned expression contorted into a sorrowful one as she looked down at the ground and quickly nodded. "Yes, of course."

"Is Mom okay?" Allison wondered aloud as she watched their mother.

"Yeah, yeah, she's fine," Diego reassured her as he looked over to Grace, his eyes examining her small frown. "She just needs to rest. You know, recharge."

Pogo then joined the group, his umbrella carefully held in one hand as he gripped his walking cane in the other. He gave a nod to Luther as he settled next to Grace. "Whenever you're ready, dear boy."

They all watched as Luther slowly looked down towards the urn, clenching his jaw slightly. Carefully, he lifted the lid off, his other hand tightly clasping the bottom half of the urn. He then turned it over, shaking the ashes out until it all fell into a pile on the ground, soon becoming drenched as the rain poured over it.

Luther looked back up at them, his expression slightly uncomfortable as he murmured, "Probably would have been better with some wind."

"Does anyone wish to speak?" Pogo questioned as he looked around at the family. Seeing that no one had spoken up, he gave a small sigh and nodded. "Very well. In all regards, Sir Reginald Hargreeves made me what I am today. For that alone, I shall forever be in his debt. He was my master . . . and my friend, and I shall miss him very much. He leaves behind a complicated legacy—"