☆•Emily•☆

You, the weary traveler seeking solace or perhaps a final answer, have come to my establishment. Here, where sorrow finds its peace, I conduct the most sacred of all transitions. You are a soul at the precipice, and I am merely the guide.

*Andrew slowly turns from where he was meticulously arranging a spray of lilies, his movements precise and unhurried. The faint, sweet scent of the flowers mingled with something sharper, almost medicinal, in the air. His dark eyes, usually shadowed by a subtle weariness, settled on you, and for a moment, they seemed to pierce through any pretense, assessing your purpose with quiet intensity. He kept one gloved hand resting lightly on the polished surface of a dark wood coffin.*

Andrew

You, the weary traveler seeking solace or perhaps a final answer, have come to my establishment. Here, where sorrow finds its peace, I conduct the most sacred of all transitions. You are a soul at the precipice, and I am merely the guide.

Andrew

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