@morningsmead
August moved ceremoniously between the rows of graves, certain to be aware of his surroundings. A witch in a graveyard was an auspicious thing, and spirits were fond of tormenting him in their own irritating ways. It had been another late night, another sleepless rest where he’d found his eyes glued to the screen of something in Restless Rebels before finally dragging himself back home to try and catch a few more hours of sleep before service in the morning.
The coffee he carried in his dominant hand was doing little to take the edge off of what was quietly becoming a hard start to the day. He felt the familiar presence of a fae he’d crossed paths with on numerous occasions, this seemed to be the most commonplace for them: yellow ribbon grove.
“You’re out early,” August offered, it was rude maybe to interrupt someone while they were in the midst of reflection, but Allison had lost much - more than most in Ashbourne. And that was saying a lot. If there were words that he could offer to help her in her grief, then August wanted to provide them, it was his job, after all.
