"We let you go in peace, thankful for all you have been and the memories you have left behind," the rites came to a close as the funeral director took a bow.
There laid a coffin of beautiful oaken wood with the lid slanted at the side. Thundering blitzes lined the sides in the form of bouquets, wreaths or single blooms.
He wore a well-made suit; his body was prepared and cleaned up well. A bandage was wound around his head to cover the eyes as to not showcase a grim sight.
The sweet nitrogenous scent filled her lungs with every breath she took. Fumeko had her chair next to the catafalque that held up the coffin. She rested her crossed arms and forehead on the coffin's edge, right before her father's legs.
A black coat was laid onto her back, alongside a hand that gently patted it. Fumeko raised her head and looked around.
"Come on kid," Morgana uttered.
