It snowed that day. He stood rigid, somber, hands clasped before him as the dusts of white peppered the all black congregation. The cries around him were almost too painful to register, his eyes remaining on one figure as they spoke their prayers, a few large snowflakes clinging to the tendrils of dark hair cascading across her shoulders.
He’d followed her all over the world and it was in England that he would finally see her, unknown to her behind his mask but feeling her all the same. It disgusted him, how he had used the death of her husband as an excuse to show his face, but he allowed himself to step closer all the same.
Each step was a reminder of how little she wanted to see him, and before he reached her, he stopped, leaving distance between them as the priest ushered them forward.
The last few prayers were said, Rodolphus watching her bend and whisper her final words to her beloved, and as she stood and turned, he cowardly thanked the gods she couldn’t recognize him.
There was still poetry in her features but she’d allowed Apollo’s loss to destroy her, what sleep she had missed etched in the grasp of her hands and the swelling of her eyes. She was out of place, lost, her glances missing him entirely before she returned her eyes forward, moving a hand to wipe at her cheeks. Had this been another encounter, she would have seen through whatever safety charms he’d used to avoid recognition.
Time moved in an excruciating pace, those that had witnessed the burial trickling away until only they remained. The silence between them was heavier than he could have imagined, and before he had summed up the courage to approach her, she began to move away from the headstone. The steps between them were long but she’d reached him, Bella rising her head and hesitating. She looked confused, but soon after she shook her head and continued, running her hands tiredly through her hair before she, too, disappeared.
Rodolphus ran his hands over his face, the charms trickling away until he was in his purest form, feeling the hammer of his heart as he faced the man that had cared for her all these years.
She would call him dispicable for being there, as she should, but he believed in what he was doing, in his gratitude to the fallen soldier they both appreciated in their own way.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, resting his hand on the headstone and watching as vines of moonflowers wound their way around his name. “We won’t forget you.”
The familiar grounds beckoned him and he felt no shame at knowing the courtyard so well. The large door had shown itself in the hundreds of pictures he’d taken, the space usually occupied by Bella or Apollo himself, and he didn’t believe he’d find himself before it so soon.
He stood for what seemed like hours before he allowed his hand to rise.
It was late, she would be sleeping.
Not a moment passed before he quickly turned, walking back down the steps. This wasn’t the time for this. He’d come back later.
But the door opened and he turned suddenly, face to face with the woman he’d been following for the better part of the decade.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
Rodolphus felt his breath catch in his throat.
He stepped forward, closing a majority of the distance between them until they were eye level, knowing so suddenly how out of place he truly was.
“Bella…” The name sounded so foreign. “I’m sorry.”
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