Forbidden

~Epilogue~

A/N: I can't do this. I simply can't. This is the first novel I have ever finished, and it's...I have to say good-bye to characters now. I can barely talk about this. :'-) It's bittersweet, and all you authors know that, I'm sure.

Deciated, again, to Kassilassie, the girl who is always encouraging me, and the friend and confidante who goes way back. We used to read each other's work on thesims3.com. This novel wouldn't have been written without her. Thank you, Kassi. <3

I sincerely hope you've enjoyed this story, and that this ending won't disappoint you.

Enjoy. <3 I'll miss you all, and I hope you read some of my other works.

Thank you.

~Rhiannon~

***

~Epilogue~

Thursday of the Same Week

“But, Rivvie, why can’t I come?”

            A shaky sigh flew out of my mouth, tickling the sensitive flesh, as I turned to face Layla, forcing a light smile onto my lips. Riding shotgun, she pouted, widening her eyes in a puppy-dog expression in an attempt to sway me. A slight chuckle rumbled in my throat at her dramatics, though it was half-hearted: how children could bounce back so easily was baffling to me. “You just can’t, Sunshine,” I told her gently. “This is something I need to do by myself. You’re lucky Mom even let you come with me.”

            Layla rolled her eyes, huffing theatrically under her breath. Crossing her arms over her chest, she slouched down in her chair, glaring at the dashboard in front of her. In this position, paused outside of my door, I could see the feeble, nearly imperceptible tremble in her thin arms; I gulped, wanting nothing more than to just move on from that terrible day: the tremor was all that remained from her healing on Sunday. Both Arabella and Nathaniel had told me several times that it would only last for a week or two, and I had nodded my consent before carrying the now-exhausted Layla back to my car.

            We were lucky that our mother hadn’t gotten home yet when we returned.

            I bit my lip, debating, before finally settling on just being kindly stubborn. “I’m sorry, Layla,” I apologized, “but I can’t do anything about it. I just…this is…I just need to do this by myself. Sorry.” I shot her a sympathetic glance, pulling my face out of the warmth of the car, the chill of autumn just beginning to settle in the prairie air. A shiver raced down my spine, though I could tell it wasn’t just from the contact with the cool atmosphere.

            “I fought in a stupid war. Why can’t I go see Dad’s grave?”

            I stiffened at Layla’s soft, aggravated muttering. Pausing, I inhaled shakily, pushing all thoughts out of my head. I didn’t need to think until I actually got into the cemetery, where I didn’t have to hide anything anymore. Turning away, I shut the door; screened by the window, I caught a glimpse of Layla’s suddenly anxious expression.

            The trek seemed to take no time at all, winding through the marble, cement, and concrete stones, some polished, some antique and appearing unloved. Trimmed, browning grass waltzed with the breeze; the fashionably placed trees were just beginning to change color, brilliant orange, red, and yellow dotting the stubborn green. My feet followed the snaking dirt path by memory, the soles of my feet padding too loudly against the earth. My breathing seemed obnoxious in the too-still air, as if I were disturbing the souls at rest.