The Requiem, though diverse, was an underlying of those of higher pristine persona, a marking of vintage adversaries. There were many individuals whom didn't actually know each other. How this person had known such an enormous amount of people was beyond reasoning.
Among the inner circle was a connection of sorts, as if they knew each other and didn't at the same time, an understanding. They all looked upon the sarcophagus as if a part of themselves were in it. All had been connected, entrusted in that very person so deeply it moved. There was a ripple among the bystanders as if the mass were one moving sea.
They knew this person, and they all felt grief.
Only one stood out from the crowd. Only one felt a morose feeling so stiff it racked their body with small, slight tremors. They wanted revenge. They wanted it as badly as their own soul craved life. They didn't care about anything else in that moment, nothing else, except for that person in that coffin. They wanted to see them thrive, to live, to be happy, but that was taken from them.
Anger surged through their body, like pumping adrenaline. For half a second, they saw red, but it quickly diminished with the realization that there was no point in it.
The crowd swayed slightly at the shift of mood. Unnerving as it was it split. The body of people separated for the agitated person. They walked out of the requiem, cold, beady eyes staring blankly, not really comprehending, but heart set.
