Her Seven Deadly Brothers (Part 1 and 2)

The air hung heavy and still, thick with the scent of damp earth and wilting flowers. Eleanora, a small figure cloaked in black, stood beside her father, David. Her eyes, red-rimmed and swollen, stared blankly at the freshly turned soil, a fresh mound that marked the final resting place of her mother, Acacia.

The murmurs of condolences from the sparse gathering of mourners were distant, a meaningless hum in her ears. Her father’s hand, usually so warm and comforting, gripped hers with a desperate, trembling intensity that spoke volumes of his own shattered grief. He had lost the one he loved the most, and it seemed to Eleanora, he had lost a piece of himself too.

Her own heart felt hollowed out, an empty chamber echoing with the silence that had swallowed her mother. The 'voices' that had plagued her for years had been particularly cruel since the news, a cacophony of fear and confusion. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to quell the rising tide of panic within her. She was cold, so cold, and the sudden, chilling awareness of many eyes on them made her shiver uncontrollably.

Then, she felt it—a subtle shift in her father's grip, a sudden rigidity. His gaze, once fixed on the grave, now darted past her, snagging on something, or someone, in the distance. Eleanora, curious despite her despair, followed his line of sight. Her eyes landed on a man standing a short distance away, casually holding a cigarette, his piercing gaze sweeping over them. Her breath hitched. His eyes. They were the same startling shade of grey as her own.