TEN STEPS, The Kenny Ackerman Story BOOK THREE ~MAYBES by Melly O' Hara

BETRAYAL

CHAPTER    11         BETRAYAL

The day of Sasha's funeral dawned bright and sunny. The rain had disappeared, taking with it the forlorn grey clouds; replacing them with the clear blue of hope, the sun shining its benevolence as if all was forgiven. The world was given one more chance. To be better. To do better.
Except Sasha.
For her their were no more chances.
For her there was only ending.

It seemed a sin, a joke, a mockery, that the weather could smile its graceful indulgence upon the world today. That it hadn't the respect to mourn with us and allow its clouds to cry their tears; and rain down a torrent in abject desolation at what the world, what we , had lost.

The grassy grave yard, dotted with white markers and tombstones, its number engorged from the original small family plots; to the endless graves of the fallen, in the fight against the titans, against Marley's attacks, stretched over the viridescent landscape to the horizon. Following the crowd of loved ones, Kenny released my hand as we neared the cemetery; disappearing into the shadows of the trees that lined its perimeter and I joined the mourners gathered around Sasha's gave-site; her beloved Survey Corp assembled in rows around her grave, as if forming a protective circle around her. Doing now in death, what they couldn't do in life; safeguard her final journey.

Dressed in full uniform, their olive-green trench coats belted over their pristine white shirts, neatly bound at the throat with a decorative draw-string tie; held in place by an oval, semi-precious stone. White pants peeked below their coats, tucked into their polished thigh-length dark brown boots. And slung around their shoulders, the mandatory symbol of pride, of hope;  the forest-green hip-length capes baring the majestic double entwined blue and white bird wings on its back, fluttering gently in the breeze as if angels were sending her off to her rest. Their faces bereft, as they held back their tears; valiantly summoning  the last shadows of strength to give her their love.
Not their pain.

Seated on the row of chairs in front of them sat the Blouse family. They'd done her proud. Though from the woodlands inside Wall Rose, hunters by nature, poor, and unfamiliar with the customs of the city folk; no noble could have had more dignity than Sasha's family, as they sat by her grave, straight backed, silent stoicism composing their features, overwhelming loss haunting their eyes.

Mr. Blouse, Uncle Arthur to me, wore the only suit and tie he owned; all in black, his old white shirt ironed crisp. His short shaggy dark hair, though combed back into a part on either side of his face, fell in soft wisps upon his brow as he bent his head, hiding his eyes from the mourners. Paleness laced his healthy tan features, a product of his outdoor living, and his kind smile lines had deepened with the pain of grief.

His wife Lisa, Auntie Lisa, matched her husband. Her long black skirt and matching  jacket revealed a dark grey shirt underneath, scrupulously ironed. Though her rounded careworn face seemed thinner; and her big dark eyes, Sasha's eyes, were lined with grief . Even her auburn hair in its bun seemed to have developed the faintest touch of silver.

The children, two boys, and two girls, Sasha's adopted siblings, sat beside them. The two boys, both around twelve years of age, both wore black suits like Arthur , their white shirts bound by a tied black ribbon that fell limply on the buttons. Their hair cropped short in the unsophisticated style of the country-folk, had been slicked down in a mark of respect. And their faces wore the same echoing the grief of their parents.

The two girls sat beside their brothers, both in plain black mourning dresses, their hair neatly tied back from their faces in a black ribbon. The youngest, Lieszel a girl of about ten; the very image of Sasha, auburn hair, big dark eyes and a heart-shaped friendly face, that always looked a little timid. Unsure. Now only looked empty.