ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ғᴏʀ ғᴀᴋᴇ → ᴊᴀᴍᴇs ᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇʀ

↳ 55: THE WAKE

FROYCE REMEMBERED HOW FREYA ALWAYS thought that their father's mansion was cold. He remembers her reasoning was the wide space and counted people living in it.

        But here was Merse Manor, packed with people all dressed in black, the vast house seeming small with the amount of guests. But it felt even colder. Froyce wondered what Freya would think of it now.

        Froyce watched as Blidley opened the door and entered more guests. His father, Francis, greeted them and they all said something and hugged him — probably saying their condolences. Francis said something back before leading them to the living room.

        Froyce couldn't contain a scoff. He was positive none of those people even knew Freya and their mom, Fiona. Their means to come as respectful by being there only made them look the opposite. As if they're only in there because they were obliged to, not because they wanted to.

        This was why Froyce never entered the room. Not once since the caskets arrived yesterday. He knew he was just going to lose it and bark at all the people there with their false remorse. He only always stays there at night, when no one is around. When it's just him and Freya and Fiona.

        "Froyce," he looks up and there stood his father. His handsome face seemed to age ten years within the span of the past three days. He looked very tired and Froyce almost felt bad. "You've been sitting in the staircases for hours. Can you please help me entertain the guests?"

        But this comment only made the boy smirk sarcastically. "Entertain them? If they're so willing to be here why do we have to entertain them to stay?"

        "You know that isn't like that," his voice sounded pleading but exasperated. "These people are here to comfort us."
     

        Froyce chuckled darkly. "Really? And how do you reckon they'd do that?" he retort back. "Do we know these people? Heck, does mom and Freya even know these people? Most of them are just your 'fans' trying to get in good with you."

        He saw how that comment hurt his father but he didn't take it back. To him, he was simply stating that facts — which he was.

        Francis closed his eyes and took a deep breath, seemingly trying to hold his temper. He opened them after a while and decided it was no use to argue. "Froyce, just, please."

        Froyce's jaw clenched and he seemed to ponder for a moment. Francis stood and looked at him expectantly yet authoritatively as well. With this, Froyce stood up and walked past him. Francis let out a sigh as he saw him head to the living room.

        It was like an elephant had walked in the room. All eyes turned to Froyce when he entered but he didn't meet any of those eyes — not one of those irritating irises that looked at him pitifully.

        James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, Lily, Marlene, Alice, Mary, and Frank all looked at him, all mixed with expressions. Froyce made brief eye contact with them from afar — surprised for he didn't knew they were there but did a good job at hiding it. Lily tried to offer a sad smile. But Froyce ignored her and headed straight to Freya's casket.

        There she laid all pale and poker faced. A bouquet of roses were clasped between her lifeless fingers. She wore a short, white dress and her hair and make up was done. If one weren't knowledged of this being a funeral, you would've thought she was just sleeping.