Eleanor had always loved mirrors. Their shiny surfaces that only needed a little light to reveal the truth. Maybe that was it. The truth was shown to her every time she looked into one.

This time, though, she saw no pretty face staring back at her. There was only a black curtain.

She stared down at her herself instead, surveying her little black dress with frilly skirts, her lacy gloves, her pointed shoes. If she wasn't allowed a mirror, she would be her own.

"Looking beautiful," Eleanor whispered to herself. "As usual."

There was a noise behind her. She turned round and saw the man with the dark, cropped hair and stubble-grazed chin standing in the doorway behind her. He straightened his tie, composed himself, but she could still see the puffiness of his eyes from where he'd been crying.

"Will," she said gently.

Will gave her a shaky smile. "You ready?"

She glanced back to the covered mirror once again. Just a few more hours and they could get rid of it. "Yes."

Eleanor followed him down the long hallway, heels digging into the soft carpet. Out in driveway, the car was waiting, one that would lead them to the body laid in the coffin with flowers scattered.

Carefully so as not to crumple her dress, Eleanor placed herself gingerly next to her brother in the car. As they began to move, she watched their house fall away, further and further behind, where she could see a knife stuck so clearly into her father's body.