One by one, I place their battered corpses upon the pyre until it is filled from end to end. I search my memory and find the funeral rites of the elves. With a wave of my hand, I clean the bodies and dress them in the finest fabrics. White flowers decorate their hair and cover their funeral pyre.
“You honor them with the old ways,” Gloriana says from behind me.
“They deserve nothing less,” I say. “Your people have suffered for a long time, and these brave elves died fighting an enemy that was mine.” I turn and look at her. “You know me for who I am.”
- Beginning the New Year with a Funeral (lifebehindthewall.wordpress.com)
- “But happiness is brittle, and if men and circumstances don’t destroy it, it is threatened by ghosts.” ~ Marguerite Yourcenar, “The Man Who Loved the Nereids,” trans. Alberto Manguel (poietes.wordpress.com)
- A nail in the coffin of old funeral ways (independent.co.uk)
- Perhaps the wind Wails so in winter for the summers dead, And all sad sounds are nature’s funeral cries For what has been and is not. Spanish Gypsy. Book i. (oldsaltbooks.wordpress.com)