A/N: Thank you all, and I am truly sorry.

Since this is only the first draft, hopefully I can come back with something a whole lot better.




"It must be hard."

Eugene lifts his head, looking into the brown eyes of his beautiful wife. She's more like her uncle than her mother — dark, silent, regretful of what she's done to get so far.

"It is," he tells William Evans's niece, and returns to the record. He glances to the left where his adoptive mother's death record rests, written in his adoptive father's small, neat script.

"But why are you doing this?"

Eugene thinks back. It was a natural death, he knew, but still a kind of murder. Prison cells were meant to keep the inmates in, not necessarily alive. But that was fine; it meant the ones who killed him had to pay for his funeral. Or at least most of it; the choice of embalming is his family's option. Considering most of his family is dead, Eugene takes matters into his own hands. He fills out the last line and places the two papers side by side.

William Johnathan Evans.

Leslie Elizabeth Evans.

"It's for a matching set," he tells Alice quietly.



Friday, Twenty-First of December, Anno Domini 1917

Name: William Johnathan Evans


Age: 35

Cause of Death: Fever

Medium skin, dark hair, blue eyes

Costs: Paid in part by Government and Eugene Taylor (apprentice)




leslie holds

a child in her arms, a child clothed in pure-white blankets.

she wears white too. white with a purple sash.

you are beautiful, i tell them, and we join the white-clad choir in song