Milo stood before her sister's grave, the morning sir cold and damp.
The cemetery was old, one of those places where the headstones tilted at odd angles and moss grew thick on them.
Milo clutched a shopping bag in her palms and clasped them together.
"Eternal rest grant unto her, O Lord," she whispered. "And let perpetual light shine upon her. May she rest in peace, Amen."
She reached into the bag and pulled out a single white lily.
It fell softly onto the grave, settling among the others she'd left over time.
Marco DiMarco, her beloved sister taken too soon.
Milo stared at the name for a long moment, and bit her lower lip.
Then she turned and walked away.
The slums of Vitalis were a world away from Virelia's golden domes.
Here, the streets were narrow, breaking apart and the buildings leaned against each other like drunks trying to stay upright.
