The rain was soft against the fluffy green grass, leaving small drops of water at the tips of their blades. Still statues stood silently at the foot of a newly dug grave; its dirt a deep earthy brown, able to breathe now.

"I—" Veronica, holding her umbrella tight so her face squashed against the bar, opened up to speak about the matter, but then recoiled back into her silent mourning.

Henry clutched his chest as if it were his own mother underneath all that dirt.

That earthy, rich and damp dirt.

He didn't say anything. He didn't even breathe, but he kept a face half shocked half stern as he stared at the foot of the grave. He stared as if he was waiting for something to happen. Veronica wanted to console him and tell him that even she, despite the death she's seen and the people she's mourned for, this death had shocked her the most, and the feeling was something she's never felt before. Her knees ached, her legs wobbled, her arms felt detached and breakable. Her face was numb from grief. She tilted her eyes at Henry to see his statuesque pain. He felt all that, and then some. He felt he had a spark sizzling in the rain—a sight that couldn't be real.

He can't be dead. He'll rise up and crawl out of the grave, he supposed. He supposed if he stood here long enough, Edward would crawl right out and into his arms. Somehow, despite the mix up of the love potions, Henry was deeply saddened he couldn't have seen the end result of the convoluted mess.

"What now?" Veronica's voice was loud over the gushing rain, and it disturbed the peace of quiet.

Henry sighed, still not moving from his post, "I don't know. I think The United States is still at war with France, so I'm not sure if that's a good place to go."

"They're burning my people." Veronica simply stated. "Ireland?"

"They're rebelling against Britain."

"Italy?"

"The French are taking hold in many places in Europe. Napoleon has his hands in many places."

"How about somewhere outside of Europe then? Egypt?"

"Napoleon is there too. He just had a whole war not too long ago at the pyramids in Cairo." Henry shook his head. "Forget about it. Wherever we go, we're going to have to wall ourselves off for a while anyways." He sighed, digging up the grass with his foot.

"I see." Veronica tilted her head down.

She soon gained an idea of the severity of Henry's emotions for, there was a huge difference from Lucy's death to Edward's, and the lack thereof of others after the procession showed just how much others cared for him. He kept a rough crowd to himself when he was alive, and now look what they have done for him. Yet, as Henry huffed, despite that he was the reason that Lucy had fallen ill, he hadn't meant for it to harm Edward.

Oh Edward, he marveled, why did it have to be you?

The rain came to a slow stop, and as the water that collected in the leaves of the trees above their heads, the sun peaked through a couple of miles away at the top of a nearby hillside, creating a soft and dim rainbow.

"How beautiful," Veronica elaborated, speaking exactly Henry's thoughts, he felt like, for there was something special he felt about seeing those colors in the sky.

It was a reminder of love, acceptance, and hope, hope for new beginnings.

"I know where we can move to:" Henry, triumphant in his words, reminisced in his past lives. "How do you feel about Norway?"

Veronica smiled, thinking heavily of war and peace, and the beauty of agreeability, stability, and a life where she could protect Henry with ease.

"I like that sound of that."

[End of Part One]

Chapter 8

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