Page 40 of Florescentia

The casket open behind me.

“There aren’t many words I can use that aren’t too clinical or possibly too superficial for a time like this. As someone who invents things, I certainly have a hard time summoning words appropriate for how I’m feeling. I can dream up contraptions and machines, see chemical reactions before my eyes, even if just jotting on a page—but now I’m not even sure I can do that.” I swallowed hard; it was like the words were just coming, and no brainpower was involved. I might look back on them and they might be a mistake, but all I knew now was that they were raw, unrefined.

My mother-in-law, front and center, pursed her lips. Dorian’s sister, Clara, at her side, followed by three more cousins. The other guests tolerated my botched speech out of respect for him, not for me.

The door opened in the hallway, mutterings of greetings before Maxim stepped aside, and my mother wheeled my father in. She looked rushed, some hairs out of place. Papà didn’t have his necktie on, but it must have been a fight to get him to leave as it was.

A deep breath, but I could spare a smile in her direction. She stood at the doorway, her gentle smile piercing the crowd’s looming. I just wanted to hold her hand, like how I was shy about ordering my own sweets when I was little.

“Dorian could do anything,” I began again. “I was the dreamer; he was the hands that made it happen. He did it not for money, not for fame, but to be there, to bear witness. He was a man who believed that being present for important things was just as good as being the creator itself. We would not be where we are without him. I don’t know what I’ll do next, but whatever it is, I will do it for him. May his time among the stars enlighten him to every question he’s ever had, every wonder that crossed his mind, and may I join him someday where he can tell me all about it.”

Pleased nods and gentle claps of silk-covered hands. I supposed my performance was acceptable.

I turned around, though I hesitated to look down. A line began to form behind me to pay their respects.

Just get it over with.

I looked down at the body. He was well dressed, one of his nicer tweed suits. The one with the leather covers on the elbows. He liked to be stylish, as any well-groomed man would care to be. I’d told Maxim to put him in this. If they were going to host this funeral to begin with against his wishes, I at least wanted him in his favorite clothes. I wouldn’t let them pick a stark black suit or frumpy formal clothing that would make him look more like his father than himself.

“Lucia.”

I looked up at Dorian’s face, his eyes wide open and white. His face torn, eye barely back in its socket. His mouth dropped open wide.

With palms cupped over my face, I screamed. A tremor so wild, my body so ill from the sight. My hands turned to fists against my face, eyes screwed shut, hoping so dearly it had been a dream.

“Lucia!” Maxim caught me. My back hit his chest, and his arms held me up by my shoulders. “What is it?”

“H-his face!” I shook.

“I know this is upsetting.” He rubbed my arm. “It’s okay,” he assured me.

“You don’t see it?” My voice cracked, my head whipped back toward the casket with a pointed finger. “Look!”

Maxim and the guests exchanged worried glances, but he still acted on my request. He approached the casket, a hand out to let the others know to step back. Everyone was quiet, waiting for a reveal to what could have caused such hysteria.

With careful inspection, he looked down at the body.

“See!” I exclaimed.

Maxim leaned back up and looked at me. “Is there something wrong?”

“You’re really asking me?” I stepped forward. “Look—”

When I reapproached, Dorian’s face was fashioned with a death mask of copper, as peaceful as it could have been. The mask had no dents, no wrinkles or even a scratch. It had been sculpted to complete his damaged face. His expression no more than like when I’d spotted him taking a weekend nap.

I looked back up at Maxim, my hands held palms up as I gestured. “His face, it changed, I swear it!”

The crowd was getting restless.

Maxim glanced around before guiding me by my shoulders away from the casket. Others began to approach it, but I didn’t think they’d forgotten my hysterics.

As we passed the guests, one caught my eye.

The beast, in his human self, shrouded in traditional funeral wear. It was the oddest thing; he blended in seamlessly, like he could be related to the Fairfaxes with how he’d fashioned his human skin—the star marking on his head was a giveaway only I would know. But even I almost didn’t see through the camouflage.

Black hair swept to the side, pale eyes that struck you when framed by dark lashes. His attire was absent of a jacket but completely black, even the leather sleeve garters around his biceps. Everything about him felt sharp, symmetrical, a celestial ideal of a man’s image.

His eyes locked with mine. I swore a flash of light flickered as the irises turned to me. His cheek dimpled when he threw me a wink.