𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐲, 𝐥𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧

𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥

"Aurora, you haven't moved from your bed all week. It's time to get ready,"

It had been a week since Carla's death, and now it was time for the funeral. Aurora dreaded it, the thought of it felt like a stab to her heart, a cruel confirmation that this wasn't just a nightmare. The house seemed colder, and Aurora hadn't stopped crying since that night in the hospital. Her friends visited often, worried about her, trying to comfort her in their own ways. But nothing could fill the void Carla had left. Carla wasn't just her aunt; she was a second mother, a best friend, the one who had raised her.

How do people go back to normal after losing someone so close? Aurora thought, staring at the ceiling. Her mother, Janet, stood near the edge of the bed, concerned. Normally busy with business, both her parents had stayed home all week. Yet, soon they would return to their routines, as if nothing had changed.

"I don't want to go," Aurora mumbled into her pillow.

"You wrote a song, a speech, and everything though," Janet reminded her.

"Get someone else to do it," Aurora muttered.

Janet sighed, sitting next to her daughter. "I know this is hard, but you have to get through it. You'll regret it if you don't come today."

Aurora looked up at her mom and sighed. "Five more minutes. Then I'll get up."

"Okay, sweetie," Janet said, leaving her daughter's room.

Aurora glanced at the notebook on her nightstand, containing the song she had written for the funeral. Carla had been a singer and had encouraged Aurora to sing. It felt right to honor her with a song, even though the thought terrified her. She also had a speech prepared, but she feared it wasn't good enough. If Carla were here, she'd reassure Aurora that everything would be alright. But Carla wasn't here, and that was the problem.

Aurora rubbed her face and forced herself out of bed. In the bathroom, she winced at her reflection: red eyes, dark circles, and a messy hair. She brushed her teeth and fixed her hair, knowing she needed to look presentable today, especially with paparazzi lurking around.

Once ready, she headed downstairs. Her parents were in the kitchen, deep in conversation. Hearing her heels on the floor, they turned to her.

"Hey, there you are," her father, Thomas, said, walking over.

"You ready?" Janet asked.

Aurora nodded. Together, they walked out to the car. Bruce, their driver, opened the door for them and then got in. Aurora wondered if Bruce was feeling emotional too; he and Carla had often talked, and she had always treated him with kindness.

They drove to the funeral home, known for hosting celebrity funerals with strict guest lists. As they arrived, the bodyguard at the door recognized them and let them through immediately. Inside, the funeral home smelled of death. The vintage decor, reminding Aurora of 1800s England, only added to the somber atmosphere.

"Mr. and Mrs. Roberts, I am the owner," a man in his forties greeted them.

"Thank you for hosting us," Janet said, shaking his hand.

"My family has run this funeral home for generations. We'll ensure you have a good experience," he said. How could anyone have a good experience at a funeral?

"You must be Aurora Roberts," he continued, turning to Aurora. "My daughter loves your music."

Normally, Aurora would appreciate such compliments, but lately, she wished nobody liked her music. It didn't feel like it was truly hers since she hadn't written any of her recorded music.