CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Selene watched the hole in the cotton shirt of the carriage driver. She was yet to decide if weeping was proper or simply smiling at the absurdity of the situation A man she barely knew. Surely she wasn't so sure he was deserving of her tears. But she had one emotion very intact, fear. Fear because deep in she knew this was one big Field mine that would blow one after the last Until it blew her up in it's crazy mess too. Death had a stench, she was sure now. An infinite sour smell that left her speechless every time she thought of how much of it she'd witnessed in her little moons at the palace of Horace O'alistair The funeral has been complete with ale passed round and aged women adorned in black robes singing a dirge. She could hardly hold her tears as she departed Unable to take food at such occasions How could one drink over a death? What cause of merriment did it exactly bring? The Lord was on a mood she scarcely saw him in, not the cold anger or wicked apathy she was