The air was silent. Only footsteps could be heard as Pryor Haym walked down the aisle of the grand church. He walked up to the pitch black coffin, and stood for a minute, looking at the sea of crimson roses that laid themselves on top of the wood.
His eyes held a certain sadness. The kind that would make anyone's heart ache with sorrow and sympathy. They glistened under the colored light from the stained glass above.
His mouth made out words, but they were drowned out in the silence.
On the coffin, he placed a single white rose