Chapter Text
The late afternoon sun filters softly through the sparsely-leafed treetops, casting shifting shadows upon the headstones dotting the cemetery. The budding promise of spring is not enough to ward off the chill that still sweeps through Vermont, and the group of boys shiver as they nimbly pick their way between the graves. A low grumble resounds through the group as they all do their best to avoid stepping on some long forgotten soul’s resting place.
“I cannot believe this is how we’re spending class today. And with finals right around the corner!” One boy sniffs derisively.
“Oh, please. Are finals all you’re worried about? I’m just glad to be away from Hellton for a while.” Another boy leaps over a grave marker, snickering as the first boy stumbles over it. “At least one teacher has some sense of fun.”
The first boy scowls, pulling his coat tighter around him. “We have different definitions of fun.”
“Come along, boys!” An older man swoops up behind them, startling both of the them. His blue eyes twinkle mischievously as he claps them on the shoulders. “Life waits for no one, and time is marching along as we speak. We have a thrilling class ahead of us; let’s not waste a moment of it by dawdling.”
The boys sheepishly dip their heads and murmur their assent before scurrying after the rest of their classmates, catching up to them as they finally reach their destination. A hush falls over the group as they take in the sight before them; a mausoleum, smaller than the others in the cemetery, but twice as beautiful. The white marble sparkles brilliantly in the sun, cutting through the somber atmosphere of the graveyard. The scent from the fresh bouquets of pure white lilies and blood red poppies on the steps mingle with the amaranth bushes that brush the sides of the structure. The iron doors twist in intricate, winding designs that depict two halves of a heart.
The older man steps in front of the group, hands clasped behind his back as he regards them with a small smile. “Now, I know that this is not everyone’s ideal class setting, but I promise there’s a purpose to us being here.” He gestures back to the mausoleum. “I won’t insult your intelligence by asking you what a mausoleum is or its origins. However, can anyone tell me what the inscription above the doors means?”
The boys peer up at the elegant, silvery scrawl. One of the quieter boys timidly raises a hand before clearing his throat. “‘In morte, amor manet’ - it means ‘In death, love survives.’”
Their teacher nods, turning to face the mausoleum. His eyes soften and he stays silent for a moment as he traces the letters slowly. “Exactly right. ‘In death, love survives.’” Gaze never leaving the inscription, he stoops to pluck up one of the poppies, spinning it slowly between his fingers. “Anyone want to take a gander at what that could mean?”
One of the boys snickers and nudges one of his friends. “That you should dispose of your spouse to be with your lover?”
Their teacher smiles, tilting his head down. “Incorrect, but thank you for playing, Mr. Davis.” When no one else offers up a guess, he turns back to face the class. “It means that love - true love, the kind that we’ve talked about, the kind that has inspired poets and authors for centuries to produce their finest works - is eternal. That not even death can wrench apart two souls that are inextricably intertwined.” He pauses, looking back over his shoulder at the mausoleum. “It means that perhaps only in the aftermath of senseless tragedy can love begin to flourish.”
The boys go silent, some of their gazes turning guiltily toward the ground while others go back to studying the mausoleum. Finally, one of the boys raises his hand. “Sir, this mausoleum seems newer than the other ones in the cemetery. Why would such a new tomb have something about tragic, eternal love inscribed on it?”
Their teacher turns back to them, one eyebrow cocked. “None of you know the story?” When he is met with the shake of their heads, he gives them a conspiratorial smile. “Good. It’s better when it’s told fresh. Go on, have a seat, boys.”
As the last boy takes his seat on the ground, their teacher lowers himself to sit on the steps of the mausoleum, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “This is a story of two houses, both alike in dignity, but with a heavy, ancient grudge between them that tore both families apart. From these two rival houses sprung a pair of star-crossed lovers; don’t mistake me, though, boys. Though this is a love story, it is also a tragedy. Our tale begins here, in our very own fair Vermont…”