Ten years she was without him. Ten years without his eyes always watching her as if studying her every move, that she always found herself drowning in, that always struck her silent when they fell on her in annoyance or warning.
Bryar Delacroix had...
Looking out over the river made them clear, the voices I hear when people weren't around me, made their songs all the more beautiful. I brushed my hands over my long dark blue skirt and closed my eyes. I had noticed that old man Delaney was not down on the shore lighting his fires as he would do and I realized that I miss the sight. The man seemed mad to everyone else but to someone who had heard the singing of the dead, someone who knew that madness was a symptom of clarity, he was only trying to find something or someone. Perhaps he finally found them. I got up from my chair and made my way downstairs past my woman who was laying out a plate for me.
"Gwen there's no need, I'll be attending Mr. Delaney's funeral this morning." I reminded her. Gwen was a woman who came on under my mother's employ when my father died and I was a young girl. She had long since grown old and gray but her mind was sharp as it was the day she arrived. She had watched me grow up and was the only person I had left after I outlived my mother. I dare say I would have never been able to survive the loss without her.
She gave me the same motherly smile she always did. "Please Bryar, 'ave somethin' at least before ya go." She said handing me a cup of tea. I took a few drinks as I moved towards my door and handed it back just as I opened it. "Now 'ave a mind my dear, no tellin' what kind of people are gonna show up at that old bastard's funeral."
I chuckled. "Its not very nice to speak ill of the dead." I told her as I made my way out to my carriage. I let my mind whisk me away on the ride seeing as it would be a while before arriving. It took me back to when I was much, much younger after my mother and I had lost our father. Everyone we knew had came to pay their respects as was the proper thing to do and I remember seeing old man Delaney there with his son. Even then he seemed like a hard man and one of very few words and I had no interest for his words. I was only a child dealing with the pain of loss so I didn't particularly care to speak with anyone, perhaps that is why I found my way out of the house and at the edge of the river behind it. I liked watching the water, despite the tales of bodies being washed up regularly.
The carriage came to a bumpy stop and I sighed deeply. I didn't particularly want to show up but I knew that it was expected of me, even though I knew no one would care if I didn't show up. His daughter, Zilpha, she wouldn't care. She barely saw or spoke to him once she had married a decent insurance man by the name of Thorne Geary. Much too far above a woman that people whispered about, they called me Lady Nyx the witch but I never paid them any mind. It was meant to be hurtful but I wasn't ashamed. Thorne did seem to be a good man, fit for marriage, however he was not the type to catch my eye. I entered the church but only took a seat at the back in an empty pew with no one around me. Zilpha and her husband were sat in the front as the priest droned on about life and death, heaven and the eternal fires of hell. It was enough to put even the dead into a deeper sleep.
I only bothered to look up when the doors of the chapel were thrust open, pulling with them a harsh, cold breeze from the streets outside and a man. I only caught a glimpse of his back as he blew by me like the river currents silent and strong but I could see the terrified look of shock on Zilpha's face as she turned to see him. I didn't understand what could cause her to look such a way.
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