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Donovan Rookwood was struck by a sudden wave of nausea, the moment he had stepped foot into the Loftus estate – he had gotten sinking feeling in his stomach when he walked into most rooms, nowadays, but this time his reasons for not feeling well had nothing to do with how people were looking at him, or what they were thinking about him. The sinking feeling in his stomach came from knowing just why he was there, and why he and Danielle were dressed in black, just as everyone else was who waited in the sitting area.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had actually seen Prisca Loftus – or, Prisca Pucey, as he used to know her, back when they were head boy and girl of their class. He had been purposefully been avoiding the papers, hoping to go at least a good week or so without looking into the papers to see Augustus’ name or picture on the front page. It was while Danielle had been thumbing through the pages that she came to him, showing him the article.

Prisca’s daughter was dead…and the idea sounded more horrifying whenever he thought about it. He didn’t have any children of his own, so he couldn’t possibly understand what she could have been going through, but he wanted to be there for support. After all, she had shown him that, despite her own views on his decisions about Danielle, and his friends, that she was still someone he could consider an ally.

He needed to give her that same courtesy. It was the very least he could do.

He had told Danielle that he needed to go outside, just to get some air – the house was certainly big enough, but the thick tension in the air made him feel suffocated. He kissed her on the cheek, and then made his way towards the back of the house, stepping out into the crisp spring air.

He felt like the weather didn’t fit this occasion – it was too bright, too sunny for such a dreary day. The thought had been crossing his mind as he shut his eyes, letting out a long breath through his nostrils as he tried to decompress, and clear his head.

But then he heard footsteps behind him. Automatically he assumed it was Danielle, and turned to assure her that he was fine, and that he’d be inside shortly. Instead, when he turned, he found himself face to face with the mourning mother.

“Prisca…”

He wished he had said something more than her name, but really…what more was there to say, at that moment? ‘I’m Sorry’ seemed too empty – too rehearsed, like it was something he was just supposed to say, regardless of how much he meant it.