She Returns From War Read Online Free

women only they remembered. Victoria studied them with a detached fascination, wondering if angels really did weep for the passing of mortals. Were the lives of men so valued in the heavenly realms? It seemed absurd. Surely these statues, carved with such skill and care, represented nothing but the vanity of those buried beneath them.
    When the procession reached the tomb, the crowd parted to make room for the pallbearers. Victoria watched them pass, uncles and cousins she didn't know, but they didn't meet her eyes. They carried her parents into the cold shadows of the mausoleum. The stone walls of the structure were milky-grey, matching the hue of the clouds overhead. Moss wormed its way along the stone in fluid shapes, but it lacked the venerable serenity of the neighboring crypts. Her father had it built when she was a young girl to house himself and his descendants, but he had been too ambitious in its size. The sons he had envisioned lying next to him in eternal repose never arrived. Victoria's only sibling, a younger sister who had died in infancy, was the sole occupant of the family crypt.
    Until today.
    Tradition dictated that she should wait outside with the other women while the men followed the dead for the final interment. Had it been an aunt and uncle in the coffins, she would have gladly complied, but these were her parents. It was her failing that had brought them to this place. She owed it to them to see their bodies to rest herself.
    The air inside the crypt smelled musty, of stone and soil and water. Men holding lanterns had gone in ahead of the pallbearers and now stood by the corners of the waiting sarcophagi. Eerie shadows danced to the rhythm of the flickering light like fey spirits. The sound of dripping water echoed in the shadows.
    Victoria drew in a sharp breath. Her vision swam as a long-forgotten fear welled up inside her. She suddenly felt as though she was trapped inside a nightmare from her childhood. In them, she would always find herself lost in a maze of dark alleyways. Rain-slick cobblestones were cold on her feet as she ran, terrified, always just a step ahead of some unseen terror. Bleary gas lamps floated in the haze around her, but their light gave no comfort. Instead, they only served to confuse her, drawing her ever deeper into the labyrinth. Sobs filled her throat, choking off her cries for help. And still she would run; she knew that stopping meant certain death.
    A hand touched her shoulder. She whirled toward it, arms rising. The haze lifted from her eyes, and she saw the face of her father's brother looking down at her. Concern creased the skin around his eyes.
    "Are you still with us?" he asked, his voice quiet.
    Victoria felt a hot rush of blood burn her cheeks. She nodded, lowering her eyes to the dusty floor. Her hands trembled. She forced them to be still and turned back toward the lanterns. The shadows still frolicked in their mischievous dance, but they no longer hid the monsters that haunted her dreams.
    The pallbearers lowered her father's coffin into the sarcophagus. Echoes filled the small space as they slid the stone lid into place. Two lions, standing on their hind legs and grasping a sword hilt between their forepaws, adorned the heavy slab. The Dawes family crest. It was supposed to be her heritage and her pride, but she'd never felt much like a lion. A fox, sometimes, when she had done something clever, but never a lion.
    The crypt grew colder as the men paid their final respects and left one by one. Soon, Victoria stood alone before the beautiful stone boxes. The lantern-bearers stood in the doorway, throwing shadows and light across the relief carvings in the walls. Victoria laid a hand on each sarcophagus, feeling their chill through her thin black gloves. Letting herself return to that night and its harrowing memories, she called to mind an image of the black dogs. She willed herself to stare into their glowing eyes. Rage flowed through her like liquid fire, and