The moment Lady Nina Rosenbell received the news of her daughter’s death, she collapsed with a high fever. The fever had lasted over three days with no signs of breaking out.
The lord hardened his heart as he made Leila’s funeral arrangements. The funeral was to be a private one, with only close family and friends attending.
“Poor child… she has not even made her debut yet…” Dahlia Bluebloom, the maternal grandmother of the Rosenbell children, grieved. The girl was so young; yet to reach of age. Though they lived far apart and rarely had the chance to meet, the older woman could still remember the girl’s striking looks and gentle demeanour. She would have made a great bride, she thought.
“She was gone too soon,” Marquis Bluebloom said. Although he appeared unruffled, who knew what was going on inside his mind? Leila was, after all, his first granddaughter from his youngest, most cherished child.
On the other hand, Frederick who was called back from school to attend the funeral stood silently at the corner, staring at the coffin that was laid in the middle of the room. Later, the coffin would be brought to the family’s cemetery where his sister’s empty coffin would be put to rest.
Somewhere in his heart, he refused to belief that Leila was gone.
“Come, Frederick. It is time to bury the coffin.” While he was absorbed in his thoughts, Viscount Rosenbell tapped his shoulder, reminding him. His face was unreadable, his mouth pursed into a straight line. He looked impossibly cold, almost emotionless. Yet, the grief and tiredness behind his eyes did not go unnoticed by those who were close to him.
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Viscount Rosenbell scanned his eyes around the hall.
There was only a handful of people in the place, most of them close friends and relatives who had known the young girl personally. Leila did not know a lot of people, and most of these personages were the ones whom he had introduced her to.
She was such a special girl, that Leila. With the gift of healing, she was like a rare treasure; one that he had sworn to protect. But…
She was gone now.
The lord glanced at his wife, who was still clinging to her daughter’s necklace, sobbing dryly. It was as if she had exhausted all of her tears and could no longer produce any. His second daughter, Friar, on the other hand, was still crying. Her stifled sobs resonated through the wide hall, making others feel sorrowful.
There was no Julius in sight; the boy had locked himself in his room, refusing to come out. The little boy had blamed himself when the accident happened, wishing he could trade places with his dead sister. Such a young boy was scarred, and the viscount could not bear to put any blame on the innocent child.
“Milord?” The priest quietly called out to the dazed man.
Viscount Rosenbell nodded in acknowledgement to the priest. He instructed the knights to carry the coffin to the family tomb.
Along the way, servants lined up against the wall, together mourning for the loss. The servants had their head bowed, palms crossed on top of their hearts, silently saluting to the deceased.
Although Leila Rosenbell was relatively unknown to the public, she was an irreplaceable and priceless treasure in the eyes of the Rosenbell mansion’s residents.
Thus, Leila Rosenbell’s funeral ended, her name forever disappearing from the world. All that was left of her was the memories that she had left behind.