The Funeral
Cassius sat on the couch, staring blankly at the fire flickering in the fireplace. Tritons sat across from him, the room's warmth contrasting sharply with the cold emptiness he felt inside.
This drawing room, usually reserved for welcoming guests and hosting discussions, was impeccably clean and tidy. Lucien had always been strict about maintaining standards of neatness.
Cassius shook his head, lost in memories of his son. He still couldn't believe Lucien was gone. It felt like a nightmare he couldn't wake up from.
As head of the house, he knew he had to be strong. If he allowed himself to spiral, he wouldn't be able to support his wife and daughter, who were equally devastated by the loss.
"Sir Cassius," Tritons called his name, his tone urgent, having tried to get his attention several times.
Cassius turned to him, his voice hollow. "Yes?"