Chrimmus gift for Ameliarichardsons.
It was time.
The sun had begun its descent in the jewel of a sky in Quel’thalas, followed shortly by the funeral procession. The bier, its sides lined with rows of roses and hyacinths and dreamfoil, was pulled by two pristine white hawkstriders, followed by mounted riders.
Atheste. She died far too soon.
The gown had been crafted as immaculately as it could’ve been on such short notice; blue satin with a bertha collar and long, loose white silk sleeves, a bouquet of white tipped-with-red roses clasped in her hands. Hidden under the fine clothes were the stiches and braces holding her battered, broken body in a peaceful position instead of the limp, hideous thing with limbs twisted into unnatural places her body had been when her elder sister had brought it back to the stronghold.
Though her mother rode in attendance, Tarela hadn’t even been provided with a day of leave to attend her own sister’s funeral, instead left to wipe the blood from her arms and work in the kennels of Domination Point. And of Atheste’s own father? Cowering off in the jungles, hissing with taint and corruption like the murderous monster he was.
It was a small funeral, hardly anyone in attendance. Oh no, they were all gone to war for the Horde. It left Rhaelia and Magistrix Sunspindle as the primary attendants, accompanied by the hawkstriders’ master. She’d been too disgusted to even consider inviting anyone from Alndron’s side of the family.
A tiny little funeral for a tiny little girl with her large dreams of heroism and exploration, filled with fantasies of titans and botany.
Condolences for the loss of her child had been offered, but no one else actually bothered to attend the funeral of the tiny little nobody, not yet having made even the barest wisp of her dreams a reality.
And finally, as they made it to the shore while the sky bled red, the bier was laid down, the hawkmaster pulling his pets away from it to start the trip back to the livery.
For several long moments the two garbed in black and grey were dead silent.
Rhaelia crept up to the bier, whispering apologies and sweet nothings to her youngest, gently removing one of her pale, cold hands from the bouquet to hold in her own living ones. Lady Sunspindle simply stood there silently, obsidian brisé fan limply held against her side.
As the sun sank below the horizon, the magistrix approached the bier, saying goodbyes to someone she didn't even really know. And then the two lit the bier, stepping away from the stench of burning flesh as Atheste’s pyre burned.
