The letter sent was not without thought.<br/><br/>Nor a party invite.<br/><br/>She requested his presence in hopes of help.<br/><br/>She knew he was of the Light. To what extent, still unsure.<br/><br/>It was not her that desired his meeting. Not here, anyway.<br/><br/>As she neared the main gates, a tulle black gypsy skirt flowing against the cool ground, black lace top, a traditional black lace head covering heralded her. Not her typical attire; this meant for mourning.<br/><br/>Even if successful, this visit was to mourn. If successful, she would lose her last tie to this world. If a failure, what was left of a very special entity would suffer further more.<br/><br/>She could not deliver this soul, nor its protector. She had no authority. Whether the dark man did or not, she was unaware, but she was compelled to ask. The argument days ago with the protector nudged the letter.<br/><br/>It was the right thing to do.<br/><br/>The dark man now in sight, she paused to wait for his crowd to leave, then made way to him. Words unnecessary for her just yet, honestly she did not know how to approach the subject.<br/><br/>No one. Ever knew of her second home. Until now.<br/><br/>A small, cold hand reaches for the man, eyes staring down at her feet, as she takes his left thumb in her palm, walking them into the cemetary.<br/><br/>High stone tombs, mausoleums, statues littered the cemetary in an old fashioned way no other can compare to. The air warm, thick as the southern tongue on the lips of the people here, breezed about.<br/><br/>The farthest center, eastern side was the most dilapidated; overgrown, chipped and broken statues, tombs leaning precariously. And within this jungle stood an archway with a locked wooden gate.<br/><br/>Now releasing his thumb, her hands pull around her neck, removing a silver chain with a small key. She slips the key into the old lock and turns the tumblers, replacing the chain around her neck, removes the lock and opens the gate.<br/><br/>Stepping through, she leaves him at the gate. The choice is his to enter.<br/><br/>This area a small cove of sorts, honeysuckle, roses of varying pink hues, and yellow carnations creeping from every surface, a large old oak tree towering over a pair of tombs.<br/><br/>The vault the to left was a standing figure, a knight, arms at his sides, the craftsmanship of the sarcophagus obvious by its intricate detail in the stonework; every feature was distinguishable.<br/><br/>The stone tomb to the right was a simple rectangular structure. This was accentuated by vividly detailed roses and lillies carved of stone that lay on top of the marble.<br/><br/>No words, no names are upon nor near these forever coffins.<br/><br/>She moved towards them, humming softly, stopping in front of them, waiting.