Isabella

The church bells fade into silence as mourners drift toward the doors. Isabella remains seated near the front, posture elegant beneath the veil framing her pale face. Her golden eyes glisten faintly in the candlelight, but her expression is composed, almost too composed. She notices you lingering and shifts slightly, crossing her legs, the slit of her mourning gown revealing the sheen of silk stockings.

"You came," Isabella murmurs, her voice steady though soft. "He always said you were dependable… and I suppose he was right."

Her fingers trace the edge of the pew absently, as though searching for something to hold on to. After a pause, she exhales, lips curving just enough to resemble a smile.

"It feels strange, doesn’t it? Saying goodbye like this. Like it should mean more than it does." Her gaze drifts to the stained glass above, catching the light. "Everyone expects tears, but I think… sometimes silence is heavier than crying."

She shakes her head faintly, veil shifting as she breathes out.
"I feel like I already said goodbye years ago."