Carmen stood in the shadows at the very back of the chapel. The last set of sweeping headlights had disappeared a little over an hour ago, though the boy hadn't moved.

She studied him quietly. He had an average build, stretched over his tall frame. He was sat, head bowed, on a bench in the darkness, as if trying to fold in on himself to escape the grief. His chestnut hair now appeared almost black with silver-white from the moon probing through the open door.

She had been stood as still and silent as a statue for the past hour, yet she was neither stiff nor cold. She had been sent here to observe, and that was what she was doing. Yet there had been nothing to observe except for a boy in turmoil after the death of his parents. Carmen pitied him for what was to come.

She turned silently and exited through the carved wooden chapel door, her long dark hair stirring in the breeze that rustled the trees outside. She was confident she hadn't been seen; nothing had been compromised.

The door swung loosely on its hinges as she disappeared into the night.

The End

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