𝙎𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙖𝙣 𝙀𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨: 𝘽𝙤𝙤𝙠 1
"I'd love to see you in a pretty silk dress"
"Would you?"
"So I can tear it off you"
"If you rip my pretty silk dress I'll blacken your eye"
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Marya Prescott may appear innocent on the su...
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Vitalis women love a pissing match at funerals. It doesn't matter whether the deceased is their mama or the aunt twice removed, they always strive to outdo each other in their little sick mourning competition.
Whimpers, sobs, sniffles. The sounds stifled by a borrowed husband's handkerchief or wiped away by a crumpled Kleenex stained with mascara, I can bear. It's the screams on the opposite end of the spectrum that compel me to dive in the dirt with the dead. The shrieks, the wails, the cries. The most deafening sounds emanating from those who haven't even exchanged a word with my grandmother in a decade.
I bet she's turning in her grave with disgust right this moment.
My eyes move away from the white wooden casket, pinning Aunt Isadora with a blistering glare. She immediately chokes on her sobbing, stifling her tears. At least it looks realistic this time.
"Gesù Cristo, when my cat was in heat she made the same noises" Silas murmurs beside me, his pierced eyebrow shooting upwards. Silas was my equal, my best friend, and my consigliere . Silas was like a true brother to me, far surpassing the bond I shared with my biological sibling. Speaking of the latter, he callously hadn't even bothered to show up to Nonna's funeral.
"It's always a contest between Isadora and Kristina," I decide to mention before shifting in my seat for a more comfortable position to endure the upcoming hour amidst the sea of imbeciles surrounding me.
"Duly noted" Roman Catholic funerals were excruciatingly long and hard to watch, as decades of the unseen family gathered to weep over a body they recognized as another asset to their collection. The Bishop drones on about our beloved Nonna, and how Valentina Vitalis was the foundation of our family. In all honesty, she was the last sane Vitalis remaining, not to mention the oldest standing by far. Our families were large, large enough to fill a small state but we were never ones to care much about each other except immediate family being the only worthwhile exception. However, I was lucky in both departments, so I had to work with what I had.
Seated beside my father, my mother remained composed, her face concealed by a delicate black lace veil. While his hand rested possessively on her thigh, her own hands remained neatly folded, devoid of any contact with him.
Nonna's constant refrain was that my mother, with her gentle nature and starry-eyed innocence, was ill-suited for the harsh realities of our world. According to her, my father's decision to introduce such a delicate soul into our family would only lead to her downfall. Yet, my father, driven by his primal instincts, burned her into submission as he only allowed himself the best of the best.
He watched as the Bishop hovered his spread-out palm over her casket, reciting words from the bible. The Bishop glanced down to the front pew, meeting my eye. I granted him a small nod as permission to wrap up the ceremony. No one in this church wants to get out of here faster than I do. But then we had the feast later. He clears his throat and turns his attention back to the clergy.
