The whole thing was a blur to Catherine. People talking to her, giving her their condolences, shaking her hands and shedding a few tears. A pretentious, jumbled mess of fake grief and fashionable black clothing. She very nearly snorted, right there by Jonathan's grave, when an extremely distant relative in an extremely tight skirt and with extremely large cleavage broke out in hysterical sobs at the sight of the coffin. Her fellow mourners were putting on airs as one would put on a mask, performing this charade just for her.

She was angry. Because those people were distracting her from her grief, because they were ridiculing Jonathan's funeral, and mostly because Jonathan was dead in the first place. She knew she should be numb, or desperate, of whatever state of mind situations such as these called for, but somehow... Somehow it didn't seem right to her to hole up in her room and wallow in self-pity.

After all, Jonathan hadn't just died. All signs pointed to him being attacked by at least one perpetrator. And then there was the extremely frustrating fact that his body had never been found. Catherine knew better than to hope, of course. The coroner responsible for his case had ruled that with the amount of blood left behind it was simply impossible for Jonathan to have survived. But to not to be able to bury him... Beneath the shiny wood of the coffin weren't his remains, but his favourite childhood teddybear, a letter she had written him the day he'd disappeared and his wedding band he'd never gotten around to wearing.

The tears stung in her eyes, but she refused to shed them. Not in front of all these strangers who cared more about the dust on their fine shoes than they did for the fact that her one true love had died. They would tut and shush and pat her back, and make her feel even worse, because she was so alone now. Her family had moved back to the US just a few months ago, they couldn't afford to travel back so soon. And all her college friends were so busy living their life, handing in papers and partying 'til noon, that she hadn't dared confront them with her misery.

Blinking the tears away she cast a quick look over the funeral party, searching for something to concentrate on so she wouldn't break down right then and there.

And then she saw him.

It was like in the movies, when the protagonist first meets their love interest, everything else became unimportant, slowed down. Only she knew him. She was burying him this very moment, she... It couldn't be. That tall, lean body, the stray coppery strands covering eyes she knew had the colour of sunlight shining through treetops, grimly focused on the open grave. He was wearing a black suit, but instead of his usual white shirt and blue tie had for some reason chosen to put on a black shirt and a red tie. Still standing there like she was frozen to the ground, she couldn't help but frown. Red wasn't his colour, it was...

And then he looked up and whatever hopes she had stupidly held shattered. Because it wasn't him. Physically, yes, physically the man standing just a few feet away from her was the same as Jonathan. Not because he was Jonathan, but because he was his twin. An unruly tear escaped the corner of her eye and rolled down her cheek, strangely cool in the summer heat. Red wasn't Jonathan's colour, it was Nathaniel's, had been since the day they were born, simply for the sake of telling them apart.

The man smiled a thin smile, acknowledging that she was there and that he knew she had seen him, and she lowered her head, hiding her eyes behind her fringe. The red tie, she knew, was for her benefit. No one in their right mind would wear a bright red tie to a funeral, no one but someone who wanted to signal that he wasn't the deceased. No one but someone who had never cared about rules a day in his life. Nathaniel Caster, the "evil twin". He probably meant well, she thought, and that only made it worse for her.

The person standing next to her pinched her arm, making her flinch and want to curse, but when she saw the coffin lowered into the ground she halted. Someone else had meant well, too. And then she couldn't help it, the tears were flowing freely. What would she do now? How would she survive without him, day by day? How would she survive in the long run, given all her plans for the future had involved him heavily? A sharp pain reminded her of the flower she had been holding all the time, a beautiful black rose from one of the bushes Jonathan had always been so proud of. It was the last gift she would give him, something she knew he would like. Now one of the thorns had drawn blood, and as weird as it sounded, she was glad. This way at least she could give him something of hers, something that was unique to her. Essence of a life he should have lived to the fullest.

The priest said a few more words, but she didn't pay attention to him. She was looking at Nathaniel, standing by his twin's graveside and looking so furious she wouldn't have been surprised if anything caught on fire. His rage confused her. Anger she could've understood, disappointment, sadness. But the feeling burning in his eyes was neither of those. It was hate. Raw, unbridled hate she really hoped was directed neither at her nor at Jonathan. He was the first to throw earth and a flower, something beautiful and blue, seeming eager to get the affair over with. Some kind soul urged her forward so she could be the next, and like in a stupor she dropped the black rose and a handful of earth. Goodbye, Jonathan, she thought. Goodbye, Jon, my love.

ᚱᚱᚱ

She didn't stay for the wake afterwards. Nice food and a good wine did sound nice, but she wanted to be alone and cry and never have to see those people ever again. They were terrible. Briefly she had debated to just hop into her car and drive off, but then she'd realized that she didn't have a car, some of Jon's relatives had taken her to the funeral. Now she resented them even more.

And as she was sitting there on some unshapely cornerstone in the only tiny bit of shade she'd been able to find, everything passed before her inner eye. Her life with Jonathan. From when she first met him at the age of twelve and immediately looked up to him to when they finally became a couple when she was sixteen to the moment when Jonathan went down on his knee to propose to her when she had just turned eighteen and they were right in the middle of a super market of all places. They had lived life with all its ups and, thankfully, very few downs, and been happy. Sure, it had been difficult that she was living in London and going to college and he stayed behind in his hometown, taking care of the business his father had passed on to him when he died. But they had always been able to work it out. Always, until now. Nothing had been working for the last seven weeks.

It had already started out very weirdly: He had received an invitation to some festivities regarding the summer solstice. It had been fashioned from very thin, silky paper, beautifully handwritten in green ink and smelt of some kind of flower she couldn't name. Jonathan had been evasive about it. She was curious, wanted to come along, but he'd refused, said the celebration was going to be held by business associates and likely to be very boring. She'd shrugged it off, but when he hadn't returned by the morning, she had grown worried.

Police, of course, scoffed at her concern. A twenty-four-year-old man missing after a party? "He's sleeping off his hangover somewhere in a spare room", they said. And because she could provide neither an address nor any names, they couldn't check up on anything. She heard nothing from him for another two hours. And then... and then a man walking his dog found Jonathan's car in the forest, standing in a pool of his blood. Policemen were dispatched immediately, swarming the forest, searching, prodding, securing evidence. They found nothing but that swan feather, so oddly out of place.

The next day the coroner determined that, from the amount of blood, it was likely that Jonathan had died. And that was when things started to transform into something straight out of a movie: They came to her house with a warrant, accusing her of murder and digging up the garden with Jonathan's beloved black rose bushes to find his body. Not that they found anything, her not having an alibi didn't amount to her killing him, after all.

But it made everything so much worse. Not only that she didn't have any answers to what the hell had happened, now she had to see that she got a lawyer and to learn how to avoid the press. "Black Widow" was a term that accompanied her everywhere. People shoved microphones and mobiles into her face at every chance they got, hoping that she may say something scandalous. Even her family in the US had been interviewed at some point. She hated them. Every single, sensation-seeking reporter, the people running their mouths in the village, the police... And that one person who caused it all.

She didn't have a clue who they were, what they looked like, what their motive was. All she knew was, that for some reason, they had killed Jonathan. And that that had destroyed everything that had ever made her happy.

The sound of a twig snapping ripped her out of her thoughts, and her head spun up. There he was, looking so deceptively perfect. Nathaniel. He seemed a bit unsure about approaching her, and she wasn't surprised: They had never been friends, and the last time he had attempted to strike up a conversation with her she had been very harsh. She sent a little smile his way, hoping he would get the message. I'm fine. Please don't bother. Please, please, please. You look too much like him, I can't be around you.

But he didn't get it, he just smiled back and stepped closer.

"You hiding?" he asked.

"Yeah." Her voice was raw. Not from crying, more from not having been used in so long. Jonathan had been the only one she ever really talked to outside of university, and she hadn't gotten up the courage to go back there since everything happened.

"Me too." The circles under his eyes were dark and heavy. He looked much younger now, much more vulnerable than at the graveside. "I just wish this were over already. Pretending not to notice so many people just pretending they care is exhausting."

That put a small smile on her lips. "I know what you mean."

"Wanna get out of here?" he asked carefully.

"What?" She frowned. What was he up to now? He had tried to seduce her before, just to spite his brother, but doing that right here and right now seemed low even for him.

"I have my car here, I could drive you home. Escape the vultures, you know? Before one of them starts talking about managing the estate or something."

"The estate?" Now she was even more suspicious.

"Money. Why do you think they're all here? They want a piece of the cake."

"What money?" Her head was beginning to swim. It was hot, she wanted Jonathan, and she definitely didn't know anything about any money.

"The big and mighty Caster estate? Your inheritance?" It really, really did not help that he sounded slightly amused. It only increased her confusion.

"But I thought that would go to you?"

Nathaniel chuckled. "Oh, sweet Kitty-Cat. I won't get a thing, it's all yours now."

"Oh."

After that there only was blackness.

Author's Note:

Well, hello, mysterious stranger who was so kind to read this. If you liked it, I would be really happy if you left a vote to show me. Also: Don't be a stranger. Leave a comment so we can spin a little tale of our own.

What could Nathaniel's motives possibly be? Do you have an idea?