darker_london | (Reply)

Alessa hadn't really had time to make something from scratch, so she had turned to painting instead. The work she had produced wasn't much larger than an ordinary photograph, but she'd finished it in time, and it would fit easily in the coffin for Peter to take with him. It was a painting of Peter, Aly and their children. She would have included more people, but there was only so much time and space, so they were the ones. She laid the work with the other gifts people left, and said nothing. What words were there? She simply stood for a while, her last moments with the man whose fatal illness she'd never even been aware of, and drifted slowly back to Kat. It hurt that her girlfriend hadn't told her what was happening, even though she understood. No one seemed to want to talk about it. No one understood better than Alessa that sometimes there weren't words. But surely someone could have found a way to tell her?