Chapitre 3: Dirt
The day is overcast, the clouds threatening to open up, but they wouldn't dare. This event is too final to be ruined by rain.
The wind is strong, rocking the limousine. There's a dreary cold that seems to wrap its way around my body, clawing at me.
This people in this vehicle are just faces. I don't ever recall interacting with any of them. Now they all gather here, sobbing uncontrollably. It's annoying to watch. One lady with a huge black hat on, rises her face from her hands, and there's smudges of mascara all over her face and hands. She jabbering on, being incomprehensible.
The rest of what of what I assume is family tries to comfort her, passing her tissues and offering soft words encouragement.
I look out of the window, almost tempted to ask the driver to turn on the radio, but decide against it. I don't want to draw any attention to myself. I have to act as normal as possible. I'm supposed to be mournful because this is a funeral. This is my father. This is a tragedy.
I'm quaking with joy. I've waited for this day for a while now.
As I clawed my way from my grave two years ago, all I could think about was putting that cruel man in the same place he had put me. This victory is sweet enough to make my mouth water.
I accidentally snicker, and everyone gapes at me. I cut my eyes at them all, then continue to peer out of the window.
A forest of houses turn into vast expanses of grassy area. Trees line the entrance into the cemetery, cutting it off from the rest of the world.
This is it.
The funeral procession wraps around the cemetery, until we reach the burial plot. The gravestone showcased, flecked in gold lettering, some esoteric quote about generosity.
Maybe in the past, that's the kind of man he was. Before the added stress of being a con artist and a fraud was exposed. The days before I was in the picture, and mom was animated and full of life. I can't make myself imagine him any other way however.
The man I called my father was a despicable excuse for a human being.
Not anymore though. I can still see the panicked look on his face in the last moment. The all-knowing haze that had taken over his expression. He knew this was coming even if it wasn't me.
The air is wet and dank, clinging to me like new skin.
Some man rubs my shoulder in a comforting gesture and I realize that I've been standing still. He says something, but everything seems warped. I can't concentrate. I carry on, grass prickling my toes. A swift blows, and someone let's out a whelp. A black hat skitters across the burial plots, and a few people let out some forced laughter.
I hold back rolling my eyes and join the congregation.
I can't quite pull off "mourning daughter".
"Today, we have witnessed a miracle disguised as a tragedy." A preacher starts. My thoughts begin to scatter again. I don't feel like I'm here. Gravity seems to swirl around me and I wobble a bit. The man next to me snakes his hand around mine and gives it a squeeze.
At least I had the decency to get the piece of scum a casket. The nicest one his money could buy.
The preacher howls on, but his words seem lost in the wind. People mutter behind me, but it seems distant.
The coffin seems satin and soft. Smooth.
My body was thrown in a huge cardboard box, and thrown into the best shallow grave a woods could hide. My heart clenched in my chest. The terror of being trapped. The coldness of being forgotten. The rage of having everything ended so abruptly. It was dark and damp. I felt disgusting.
I wanted to be free.
I ripped at the earth, dirt piling around me, stinging my eyes. Every breath filled my chest with dirt, but it wasn't going to end this way.
Then I felt a cool breeze. The night air. The aromas of the forest wafted around me. The moon was full in the sky, flickering between the leaves of the canopy.
I stood tall, head held high for the first time in my life.
That man, my father, I knew on my first night back, was as good as dead.
It's been two years exactly since that day. A little over three years ago, he left me to rot. I'm finally finished. Yet I'm not done. I want to destroy him completely.
The preacher gestures at me to come over, and passes me a rose. I run my hands over the thorns and bring it to my lips.
"Rot." I whisper in the petals, the place it on the casket.
I walk into the wind and take one last look back at the scene.
Everyone looks like little snakes. I will never see any of them again. Daddy dearest left all of wealth to the dead heiress.
A smile erupts on my face and I can tell my fangs are glistening.
The undead heiress.
— Un nouveau chapitre arrive bientôt — Écrire un avis
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone