"Do you think a sari would be appropriate, Halle?"
I looked up from the report resting in my lap as the carriage rolled through the morning streets. The wheels hummed softly over the stone road, occasionally jolting when they struck a rough patch. Outside, the city moved beneath a pale winter sky, people bundled in coats as they hurried through the cold.
Halle sat opposite me, one gloved hand resting near the window.
"The Church does not really police culture," she replied after a moment. "So it should be fine. Black would be proper, though."
"Hmm."
The sound escaped more as a sigh than an answer.
My eyes drifted back to the report. The words remained orderly and professional, but they struggled to hold my attention. Every few lines, my focus wandered toward the window, toward the city, toward thoughts I had no real desire to entertain.
The wind rattled faintly against the carriage.
People crossed streets carrying parcels. Vendors adjusted displays outside their shops. Life continued with its usual stubbornness.
It always did.
Whether anyone was ready for it or not.
"We are here."
Halle's voice pulled me away from the page.
"Ah, already?"
I removed my glasses and folded them carefully before placing them alongside the documents.
The carriage slowed to a stop.
When the door opened, cold air slipped inside immediately.
I stepped onto the street and adjusted my coat.
The district was familiar. Quiet in the way wealthy areas often were. Not empty, merely restrained. Even the bustle seemed determined to remain dignified.
Ahead stood the tailor's establishment.
Warm light spilled through its windows.
The moment we entered, a pleasant scent greeted us.
Sandalwood.
Peony.
Something faintly floral beneath both.
"Good morning, Miss Lakshmi. Welcome."
Mrs. Anarkali appeared almost immediately, her smile bright and practiced.
"Mrs. Anarkali. Good morning."
I returned the greeting and allowed myself to be guided toward a seat.
Sunlight filtered through the windows in soft bands, illuminating bolts of fabric and half-finished garments arranged throughout the shop. The warmth inside contrasted pleasantly with the chill lingering in my hands.
"What would you like to start with? We received several pieces matching your request."
I made a lazy gesture.
"If you would."
Mrs. Anarkali clapped lightly, and several assistants disappeared into the back.
Moments later they returned carrying dresses and folded fabrics draped over their arms.
The next hour disappeared surprisingly quickly.
One dress became another.
Black silk.
Dark velvet.
Embroidered hems.
Subtle patterns.
Some were elegant but impractical. Others practical but forgettable.
Mrs. Anarkali remained enthusiastic throughout.
"This looks gorgeous, no?"
I blinked.
My reflection stared back from a mirror taller than I was.
The dress was elegant.
Simple.
Appropriate.
Yet my thoughts had drifted so far that I had scarcely noticed myself putting it on.
That probably should have concerned me more than it did.
"Halle?"
I turned slightly.
"What do you think?"
She was examining another garment nearby.
"I think this would do."
Her answer came with the certainty of someone who had already evaluated several alternatives.
She lifted a red sash.
"Should we go with that one?"
I examined it briefly.
"No. The one you have on would do," she said. "Though having another option would not hurt."
Mrs. Anarkali laughed softly.
"There is some truth to that."
I nodded.
"I see. We will take both. And the same in Halle's size."
Halle glanced up.
Mrs. Anarkali's smile widened.
"Excellent choice."
Soon enough measurements were confirmed, purchases arranged, and garments packed away.
By the time we stepped back onto the street, the afternoon had already begun its slow descent toward evening.
"Thank you for today, Aunty."
"Not at all," Mrs. Anarkali replied warmly. "It was my pleasure."
Workers loaded the packages into the carriage while we exchanged final farewells.
Once everything was secured, we climbed back inside.
"Where to next?" I asked.
"We still need jewellery," Halle said, checking a list. "And presents."
"Ah."
There was no escaping it then.
The city continued sliding past the windows as we moved from one stop to another.
Shops.
Merchants.
Polite greetings.
Small purchases.
Conversations that demanded attention while my thoughts wandered elsewhere.
I answered when spoken to.
Most of the time.
By the time darkness settled across the city, I felt as though I had spent the entire day moving without ever truly arriving anywhere.
Night came.
Then left.
Morning followed beneath a sky that seemed uncertain about what it wished to be.
"Good morning, Ma."
The coachman tipped his hat as he stepped down.
"Good morning."
I returned the greeting while studying the clouds overhead.
The air carried the crisp bite of winter.
"Are you okay?"
Halle's voice came quietly.
I glanced toward her.
"I am."
The answer came automatically.
Whether it was entirely true was another matter.
Halle looked at me for a moment.
Then let it go.
I was grateful for that.
Or maybe disappointed.
The carriage carried us toward the airship docks.
The city gradually gave way to wider roads and larger warehouses. Soon the enormous structure of the docks came into view.
Activity greeted us immediately.
Workers shouted instructions.
Crates moved between carts.
Steam drifted from machinery.
Voices overlapped until individual conversations dissolved into background noise.
"Good morning, Bana."
The pilot stood near the vessel holding a mug. He looked as though he had only recently become acquainted with consciousness.
"Ah, Lady Lakshmi. Miss Halle. Good morning."
He swallowed the remainder of whatever was in his cup.
"Are you ready to go?" Halle asked.
The coachman was already overseeing the transfer of luggage.
"We are good and ready."
Bana ran a hand through his hair.
A passing worker laughed.
"Ahh, Bana. You were drinking half the night and still had work this morning."
The pilot offered a sheepish grin.
I sighed.
"Try not to drop us."
His expression became dramatically offended.
"I shall do my utmost."
The flight itself passed quietly.
The airship rose above the city and carried us across the winter landscape.
From above, roads became threads.
Rivers became silver lines.
Entire towns shrank until they resembled toys arranged across a table.
Eventually Liǎnglíng appeared on the horizon.
Familiar.
Changed.
And yet still itself.
Much like the reason we had come.
We disembarked alongside our luggage before securing another carriage.
"Are we going to the shrine?" I asked, watching the streets pass outside.
"No," Halle answered. "Ezra said the funeral would be held at the church."
I nodded.
The city rolled by.
Buildings I remembered.
Streets I vaguely recognized.
Corners carrying fragments of older memories.
Time had altered details, but not enough to make the place unfamiliar.
The sun remained overhead for most of the journey.
Then finally—
"We are here."
The church stood ahead.
Rows of carriages occupied the entrance. Concord personnel were visible throughout the grounds.
The atmosphere felt controlled.
Contained.
Not quite tense.
Not quite calm.
Everyone wore black.
The sight alone made the purpose of the gathering impossible to ignore.
Something about that made the day feel more real.
Inside, the church smelled faintly of candle wax and old wood.
Voices remained subdued.
Footsteps softened instinctively.
Near the front, a coffin rested beneath filtered light.
I looked at it.
Then away.
"Miss Lakshmi, you came."
I turned.
"Miss Heiwa."
She stood nearby dressed in white.
Others wore the same colour.
A deliberate contrast.
A statement I understood without needing it explained.
"Ah, Mr. Liúlóng."
I blinked in surprise.
"Miss Devi. Good morning."
He shifted slightly to make room.
Halle and I joined them.
For a brief moment, I found myself wondering exactly what Heiwa had told her father about me.
The thought almost made me smile.
Almost.
The priest continued speaking.
"You are allowed to be angry. That is not the same as losing faith."
The words drifted through the church.
Measured.
Steady.
My eyes wandered.
Miss Mumeishi was present.
Others I recognized.
Some I did not.
A young girl sobbed openly several rows ahead.
No one asked her to stop.
It seems she was well-loved.
The realization settled heavily.
Of course she was.
The service continued.
Prayers.
Memories.
Silence.
Words attempting to give shape to grief.
Some succeeded.
Most merely circled it.
"You are not wrong to feel the size of this."
The priest's voice remained calm.
Patient.
As though speaking to wounds that could not yet be touched directly.
Eventually people were invited forward.
The line moved slowly.
Too slowly.
When my turn came, I approached the casket.
Victoria looked peaceful.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Peaceful.
Still.
As though merely sleeping.
The contrast felt unfair.
I did not like that thought.
Because she wasn't sleeping.
Around me, grief took many forms.
Tears.
Silence.
Forced smiles.
Vacant expressions.
People carrying loss in whatever way they could.
Eventually the ceremony moved outside.
The procession made its way toward the church graveyard.
Oh.
She is being laid to rest here.
The thought struck harder than it should have.
The winter air felt colder now.
The coffin was lowered carefully.
Ropes creaked.
People watched.
Some prayed.
Others simply stood.
Then came the sound.
The dull impact as the casket settled below.
The noise struck harder than I expected.
My chest tightened.
For a brief moment, everything else seemed to disappear.
The first handfuls of dirt followed.
A simple act.
An ordinary act.
Yet each soft thud felt strangely suffocating.
I looked away.
For a moment, it was easier than watching.
Something about it—
No.
I could not watch that.
"Live and let live."
Ezra's voice reached us as he approached.
"Ah. You are in attendance."
It was all I could manage.
He nodded.
Around us, conversations began quietly.
People comforted one another.
Shared memories.
Attempted to move forward despite the fact that no one truly wished to.
I looked toward a woman dressed in white.
Then toward the fresh earth.
The grave remained small against the size of the world around it.
Yet somehow it commanded all attention.
The winter wind stirred.
No one spoke for a while.
And there, beneath a sky that seemed incapable of deciding whether it wished to be bright or grey, acceptance finally began its slow and unwilling work.
Slow.
Unwilling.
But moving all the same.