Sketch with Gerard from my AU!

     With a soft exhale, draping a flannel garment over his shoulders atop a thick sweater, the youth meandered along the labyrinthine paths of cemetery lanes, amidst crosses and tombstones, effigies of the departed, and abandoned spades. Within his grasp, he cradled a striking bouquet of death-hued roses, their crimson hue punctuated by pronounced thorns, elegantly enveloped in vibrant paper and bound with a medley of ribbons. A precise count of ten roses adorned the bundle. Navigating through the jagged limbs of ancient trees, he sighed and recoiled, each step accompanied by the brittle snap akin to the bones of the deceased. Venturing deeper into the heart of the graveyard, among the grandiose statues, where erstwhile lords and ladies or affluent tycoons slumbered, he bore an antiquated lantern, harboring a waxen flame at its core, illuminating his path and the names etched upon familiar tombstones.

     Halting before the effigies of two departed souls—a dignified gentleman in evening attire and a lady clad in an opulent gown—the lad settled, tenderly proffering crimson roses into the stone palm of the lady. Shedding the dusky shroud of his hooded garment, he raised his eyes, mirroring the luminance of the moon and stars, as well as the perpetual melancholy haunting his soul.

     "Mother, father... it has been five winters since you departed, entrusting me to the providence of God and the guardianship of our grandmother, Helena...It has been an eternity since I last graced the forsaken earth where you rest, so much so that the contours of your radiant visages begin to fade from memory. I am aware that you would not wish for me to frequent the dismal abode of your tombstones, toil endlessly amidst the frigid soil, and saturate it with the bitterness of my tears... Yet, I find myself unable to relinquish the purity of your spirits, this unyielding sorrow that festers within the recesses of my mind's abyss. I earnestly beseech for your grace and pardon, hoping against hope for absolution."

     Clasping within his slender, pallid fingers an intricate silver cross with a keenly honed tip, the youth fixed his desperate gaze upon the moon, commencing a prayer. His entreaties were woven with longing, yearning to hear the dulcet tones of his mother's voice and the resonant timbre of his father's baritone, as though aspiring to revert to the innocence of youth, enraptured by locomotives and tomes on celestial bodies. He beseeched the Son of God Himself, seeking solace for his troubled mind and well-being for his grandmother...

                                —Sketch. Bennett Kiramman.