[color=lightgray][right][sub]Timestamp: A week or so before the end of the month...
Collab with [@BrutalBx] as [color=63773B]Hyde[/color][/sub][/right]
[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/220407/63058d0d87bfafe2fca837ded69ea5d0.png[/img]
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[img]https://i.imgur.com/C6Fyzyk.png[/img]
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[indent][indent][center][color=b26120][i]His piano played
the music of his soul[/i]

Beloved son, brother, & dear friend
Pierce Thatcher Mercer
May. 4, 2001 to Aug. 29, 2019

[i]Step softly, a dream lies buried here.[/i] [/color][/center]

[color=#3b776d]“Thank you… for coming with me, Kylee.”[/color] A woman, one year younger than her dear friend, stood by her brother’s gravestone writing in a notebook. She wore all [url=https://i.pinimg.com/originals/65/59/0b/65590b95e78ffc9c92c2ada52a6818a1.jpg]black[/url], which kept her physique private and left no room for wondering eyes. Her form was frail and small, her skin was pale, almost sickly so, and her lips tinted plum.  Her tousled hair was woven from the darkest parts of celestial galaxies like fine strands of spacetime and starlight. As for her hands, her fingers had ink smudges and calluses, as if she wrote like her life depended on it. Still… she wouldn’t think of herself to be much of a writer or beautiful for that matter. 

[center][color=b26120][i]Lorelei, don’t die with your song still trapped inside of you.[/i][/color] [/center]

Yes, Lorelai wrote, but more so letters to her brother and songs. She wrote songs. She wouldn’t know where to start when it came to an actual story, especially if it was a story revolving around her life. To her, writing songs, writing poetry, and writing literature all take different skills. Song lyrics are not less literary than poems, or a good book, nor do they require less skill or intelligence. Songwriting was a gift of its own because deep down, there was a muse that took control over you. You have no control. 

[center][color=b26120][i]Create something from nothing, let it lead you, guide you.[/i][/color] [/center]

How does the lyrics relate to the melody? How does the poem relate to the silences that surround them?  She was not a writer, she was simply compelled to write. She liked putting herself in other people’s shoes, she liked to feel, she liked to sing. Lorelei did not understand her process like writers with a keen eye for beauty and detail did. All she did was let her left hand go wild as a melody played in her head, as if a phantom had taken over her and before she knew it, she made something out of nothing.  

Fervently, Lala let her fountain pen flow blackness onto the white paper. In her own way, while understated, she was an enchanting beauty, mystical and eerie. Deep down, she was someone with far too much on her mind and only had one way to express it. Not through words but through a song.  

[center][color=b26120][i]You told me yourself, you don’t understand the feeling and you know you don’t have control when you write but that’s when you feel the most free.[/i][/color] [/center]

Glancing up from her letter, Lorelai looked at the mayor’s daughter, her brother’s ex and best friend, who was adjusting the new bouquet inside the flat stone vase. Tilting her head curiously, still wondering of the trauma Kylee went through watching her brother die, Lala observed the expression on the ambitious woman. Intent, focused, and full of love for her brother. Kylee was someone that carried on with strength, wit, and perseverance. She went on with life unbothered. At least, that’s how Kylee carried herself. Admirable, really, if only she could be like that.

[center][color=b26120][i]Be free. Sing for me, Duckling.[/i][/color] [/center]

Shaking her brother’s voice out of her head, bringing her back from a daze when she heard Kylee’s voice, Lorelei gave a shy half smile. Still on her knees, the mayor’s daughter glanced up from the canna lilies she had just placed in the vase, giving her little sister from another mister complete attention.  

[center][sup][color=b26120][i]Live...[/i][/color][/sup][/center]

[color=a95963]”Anytime sweetheart. I’m just a phone call away.”[/color] Bringing herself up, Kylee took a few steps back, standing beside Lorelai to take in Pierce’s grave. 

[color=#3b776d]“Lilies?”[/color] 

[color=a95963]”Mhm, or well [i]canna[/i] lilies. The Orange Beauties.”[/color] Kylee gently placed her hand on the other girl’s back, making sure to not move suddenly so her friend wouldn’t flinch. [color=a95963]”Pierce likes symbolism and don’t you think they bring the drama, Lala? So vibrant. So bam!”[/color] 

Nodding at the extroverted girl, Lala observed the flower, the orange beauty, adorned with faint golden-yellow streaking in the fluted petals. [color=#3b776d]“And their meaning?”[/color] Timidly and soft-spokenly, the younger girl asked, letting her arms drop to her side with her pen and journal. 

[color=a95963]”Glory, power, beauty, and perfection. All things you and I should seek this year, don’t you think? I think Pierce would agree.”[/color]

Instead of immediately responding, Lorelei walked forward and ripped a few pages out of her notebook, folding them together, slipping it into an envelope, and then putting it on top of the stone. She really needed to get a mailbox for Pierce.  [color=#3b776d]“You’re beautiful, Kylee.”[/color]  

[color=a95963]”On the outside at least,”[/color] Kylee Grimm admitted, with a tinge of sadness in her voice. [color=a95963]“No more Pierce, no more Roddy.”[/color] 

[color=#3b776d]“Big brother is always watching. And you have me.”[/color] After closing her notebook, placing her pen on the inside, Lala offered her hand for Kylee to grab. [color=#3b776d]“Through thick and thin, I’ll be here, okay?”[/color] 

Not one to deny the girl with Snow White features, Kylee grabbed it. Her eyes softened at one of her last links that grounded her. [color=a95963]”You’re starting to sound like him more and more each day.”[/color] The two girls looked at Pierce’s grave once more before both acknowledging it was time to leave. [color=a95963]“Are you still on for Monday? You really don’t have to be the first one for this segment. I have a few other people I can contact. I know this is out of your comfort zone.”[/color] 

Anxiously but honestly, Lala intensely shook her head in disagreement, internally trying to convince her and pushing Kylee’s words out, [color=#3b776d]“I need to do this. I need to… jump.”[/color] Stopping in her tracks, she looked at Kylee, her hand gripping tighter,   [color=#3b776d]“I can’t be scared to live my life and you’re giving me an opportunity where I can live without… without people seeing me. Big brother always told me one day I’ll be this town’s angel of music and I- I think that’s pretty cool. I just… I just have to do it. Please help me, Kylee. I-I promise I won’t mess up. I’ll do my best.”[/color]

Kylee was quick to pull the younger girl in the embrace, hushing the storm in her mind.  [color=a95963]”Okay. It’s okay. It will be okay. I’ll be there with you the entire time. We’ll do this together. You’re not alone.”[/color] In her arms, Kylee could feel the girl’s body relax. Ever since Pierce died, Kylee would visit Lala weekly and she caught on patterns of potential breakdowns and usually it started with speed talking. [color=a95963]”Together, hand in hand.”[/color] After their heartfelt moment, the mayor’s daughter helped Lorelei put her things in her bag, including their small picnic they had with Pierce, and led her through the cemetery, on the pathway that went to the parking lot. 

As they walked, a figure nonchalantly passed them, grazing Lorelei Mercer’s arm. Looking behind her, over her shoulder, she looked fixedly at a devilish looking man with blonde hair and a mischief smirk. 

[center][img]https://31.media.tumblr.com/40f4cfd529ad08ea9f55c0aca47d9579/tumblr_muo83oFEU11sjto8do1_400.gif[/img][/center]
Hyde’s piercing blue eyes surveyed the two women but mostly the smaller one. They were both beautiful but there was something tragic about the little one, something sad. She smelled like lilac and gooseberries. He made his walk deeper into the cemetery with no care or worry about the bodies littered around him. When you're dead, you're dead. He stopped at one particular gravestone, if you could call it that. It was basically a rock on the floor with a name engraved in it, a pauper's pit for a forgotten piper. 

[i]Mason Hyde[/i]. Father dearest. 

The story of Mason Hyde was your typical Edenridge affair, it was tragic and it was violent. It all started so well, he escaped the Southside and violent parents to become an exemplary police officer for the EPD. He was often used for undercover jobs considering he had a knack for deception and connections with various criminal enterprises. When he and partner Sylvester James were called to a house on Carlisle, they didn’t expect to be greeted by a gun wielding Brendan Thomas O’Brien. The two ended BT’s life and during the search of his place, they found April McMahon chained to a radiator, out of her mind on drugs. Mason took an interest in her recovery and soon, they were in love and married. She gave birth to a beautiful boy but that’s where the story sours.

The young family moved to the north side and for a time, the world was pleasant. Then people began to notice that Mason seemed to have a lot of cash for a police officer. A quick look into their finances and it was obvious that Officer Hyde was taking bribes and payoffs. This caused quite the scandal and he was soon arrested, charged and locked up for his crimes. Mason didn’t last long in prison, being locked up with people that he had sent down was not healthy and on one hot summer night, he was stabbed in the yard and bled out. A sad end. As for April and her son, they fell back into the Southside and back into the old habits that she had only just broken free from. And what of her boy? He grew up to be the Devil.

Hyde did not have many memories of the man that was his adopted father but his grave made a great hiding place. Kneeling down, he removed the small vase that the church put there to make it look like anybody cared and dug his hand into the dirt. He reached around for a few moments before freeing his hand. Grasped in his fingers was his old friend, his old faithful; the pair of brass knuckles that were his signature. He hid them before he was arrested and now they were back where they belonged.

As he prepared to leave, Hyde noted the grave next to his fathers; Pierce Mercer.  He didn’t know that name, probably a northsider. Sat upon it was an envelope. Not one for tact, he curiously picked it up and began to read.

[center][i] [color=#3b776d]My constant. My guardian. My spaceman. The only man I will ever love. 

Things are getting worse and I wished you were here to protect me from the monsters. I don’t think I’ll ever be good enough for them and when I face my reflection all I see is a tragedy. I suppose I am my own worst enemy because I’m starting to believe everything they tell me. It makes the pain bearable if it’s true… 

I know I feel too much and that I’m going backwards because of my overthinking. While it’s hard to stop the horrible monsters, I try my best to think of you. I try my best to hear your voice. In everything I do, I see you. I’m going to do my best to believe, if not in me, then in you because you see me for me. You always have. 

I’ll walk in your footsteps and take more chances. To live a life full of regret, that’s horrible, but to live? To truly, deeply live? To love with all my heart and do what I love with so much passion? That sounds wonderful. I’ll trust the journey. Even if I don’t understand it, I’ll trust it because you’re in my heart, always. Keep watching over me and I’ll make you happy. I just want to make you happy. 

The bond we share, an unbreakable bond, is like the galaxy. In the end, we’re all just dreamers in an endless universe and stars can’t shine without darkness. The night sparkles and I will never let it go. I love you and like I love the stars too fondly, I will not be fearful of the dark. This is a promise. I swear to you.

Your little duckling, 
Lorelei
[/color][/i][/center]
Whoever had written this letter, they seemed to be hurting. Their pain was real and palpable like spice on the tip of a tongue. They were being abused that much was clear and they needed protecting. They were asking for help. Hyde was trying to do better. He was trying to be a good man. Perhaps helping this person was the way forward? They were basically begging him anyway. The letter smelled like lilac and gooseberries: the girl from the entrance. In one hand, he crumpled the letter and in the other, he tightened his grip on his brass knuckles.

It was time for him to fix shit once again.
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