looking down at the closed casket, gabriel felt nothing. his expression remained the same as it had been; cold, unwavering. almost bored. it was a bit unnerving for those who didn't know the extensive trauma between gabriel and his mother— a woman so harsh, so void and empty of anything other than bitterness and hate.

it was ironic, come to think of it. if it were gabriel in that casket and his mother standing in his shoes, would she be as uninterested as him?

he had wanted to cry. wanted to feel something. his two younger siblings, torin and lyssa, had wept. they were still mourning, sitting in the pews clinging to one another like their world was crashing down.

maybe it was. without their mother here to run things, to shelter the family keep everyone protected, nowhere and no one was safe. a muscle in his jaw tensed at the thought, his eyes narrowing down at the dark oak box his mother laid in.

"you pushed me to this." he breathed, quiet enough no one heard him. she had, indeed. with each beating, each screaming match— the fact she had killed his father when he was just a boy. she had already been dying. cancer, she had told the family over dinner.

"kill me," she begged.

"fine," gabriel had said, his voice just as emotionless as his face was, "but not because you chose this. i do."

a single gunshot and she was gone. he thought maybe he would feel something. regret. guilt. vengeance. pride. yet, none of it came. would ever?

he was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts by a weight on his shoulder, his eyes shifting to a hand pressed against his suit. then, onto the eyes of the individual.