A five year old Sophia Marie Delacroix looked up at her father

with tears in her young, curious eyes as the shiny ebony coffin was places inside the moist earth.

"Daddy, mommy isn't coming back, is she?" Sophia cried. Pierre Delacroix picked his daughter up and held her close, glancing around at the other mourners who'd come to pay respect to Eliza.

"No, my child, she's not." His own tears were making damp trails down his plump cheeks as his wife was laid to rest. Little Sophia didn't understand death completely, but she did understand that she would never see her mother again.

After the funeral service was over and everyone had expressed their condolences, Pierre and his daughter went home. Sophia was laid down in bed and her father stayed by her side for quite some time, a strange look on his face.

"Everything will be fine, Sophie." he assured her, kissing her on the forehead as he tucked her in. Her eyes slowly fluttered shut, a small mumble escaping her lips. Pierre held his daughter's hand until she fell asleep. She'd been crying, her breaths were uneven. As soon as her breathing became regulated again, he sat up and slowly walked towards the door. He stopped and turned, looking over at the bed.

"Goodnight, little one." The light was turned off.

Little did Sophia know, the death of her mother would ripple throughout her life for years and years to come.