The casket held a young man who's looks could only be described as peaceful, as though he was not dead, but sleeping peacefully and dreaming of a mothers coddling. The expression his face was frozen in left no clues behind as to how he had passed, and in some way, it was a chilling sight. The perfection looking much like a painting that tried desperately to cover any hint of actual life that had once occupied the boy.<br/><br/>He was moderately handsome, with light brown hair and full, colored lips set on a harsh jaw that threw off the childish innocence the Mortician had tried to impress on him. In large letters on a plaque near where his head rested read simply 'Johnathan Write, beloved Son.'<br/><br/>There were only a few people at this event, one woman stood closest and silently cried, reaching out as though she would touch his hand, but bringing it back quickly, as though scared the boy would be angry at her touch.<br/><br/><br/>Johnathan watched the progression with dead eyes, unable to find anything to feel but anger at the people who had apparently loved him. Where there was anger, there was also pain, pain that he had felt at a constant while he lived, that he had never been able to show to people, that he had thought would end if he just...<br/><br/>But it didn't help, he still felt it like a burning knife twisting in his chest. If the one escape route wasn't actually an escape, where did that leave him? He tangled his fingers into his sticky hair, pulling at it angrily. The motion was enough to draw Ludovica's attention from the casket, allowing her eyes to find the ghost of this particular funeral, and with it a shocking sight.<br/><br/>His light brown hair she noted before did nothing to hide the crimson that covered most of his head, face, and upper body. From Ludovica's position, he was too far away to tell where the blood came from, as the boy continued staring at the crying woman, watching her exhibit the emotion he had never been able to draw from her while he was living.