𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐎𝐫 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

008

Today marked the day of the funeral, an event that, in the world of the Zabinis, was not so much a time for mourning but rather a carefully orchestrated spectacle—a display of wealth, power, and the cold efficiency with which they managed death, much like everything else in their lives.
Cassiopeia had understood this much from Blaise's brief explanations, but it was another thing entirely to see it unfold.

She had dressed for the occasion in a black dress that exuded both elegance and restraint. The dress was a sleek, form-fitting design that hugged her waist and flared out gently at the hips, reaching just below her knees. It was simple, yet the high neckline and long, sheer lace sleeves added a touch of sophistication. The fabric was soft and moved gracefully with every step, the dark color highlighting the fairness of her skin and the deep, contemplative look in her eyes. A small black ribbon was tied at the nape of her neck, her hair swept into a loose, elegant chignon, with a few soft tendrils framing her face. She looked both beautiful and solemn, embodying the respect the occasion demanded, but with an understated grace that was uniquely hers.

Blaise, on the other hand, had donned an impeccably tailored black suit that spoke of the prestige and cold formality expected of him today. The suit was sharp, with clean lines that emphasized his tall, athletic build. The jacket was cut close to his frame, with a single-breasted design that added to the suit's streamlined appearance. Underneath, he wore a crisp white shirt, buttoned to the top, with a sleek black tie knotted perfectly at his throat. His dark hair was styled neatly, and the polished black shoes completed the ensemble. The suit's severity contrasted starkly with his usual relaxed elegance, but it matched the somber mood of the day.

Blaise sighed deeply, still standing within the safety of his room, as if trying to delay the inevitable for just a moment longer. "Let's get this over with, I guess," he mumbled, his tone lacking any enthusiasm, the weight of the day pressing heavily on him.

Cassiopeia, sensing his unease, stepped closer and gently wrapped her hand around his arm, giving it a comforting squeeze. "It's only today," she reassured him softly, her voice calm and soothing. "After that, we're finally back at Hogwarts."

Blaise glanced down at her, finding some solace in her presence. Her words, though simple, carried the promise of returning to the place where they could leave behind the cold, calculated world of his family and return to something more familiar, more genuine. He offered her a small, appreciative smile, his fingers lightly covering her hand on his arm.

"I know," he replied, his voice softening. "Thank you, Cassie. I don't know what I'd do without you here."

Cassiopeia smiled back, the warmth in her eyes a stark contrast to the coldness they were about to face. "You don't have to worry about that. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

With those words, they both took a deep breath, steeling themselves for what lay ahead. Blaise's hand tightened around hers slightly, as if drawing strength from her touch, before they finally stepped out of the room together.

As they walked down the grand hallway, the sound of their footsteps echoed off the marble floors, growing louder as they neared the entrance to the hall where the funeral would take place. The manor, usually imposing and cold, seemed even more so today, every corner filled with the weight of the occasion. But with Cassiopeia by his side, Blaise felt a little more ready to face it, knowing that after this, they would leave this place behind and return to the safety and familiarity of Hogwarts.

The funeral was held in the grand hall of the Zabini manor, a space as cold and imposing as the family that inhabited it. The room was vast, its high ceilings adorned with intricate, somber tapestries, and the walls lined with towering, dark marble columns that gave the space a feeling of overwhelming grandeur. The air was thick with the scent of expensive incense, mingling with the distant sound of mournful strings playing a dirge in the background.