Hand in hand with Alucard during the procession into the cemetery, Liesl cries quietly and steadily beneath the shade of her parasol while her father walks ahead as a pallbearer and wishes this weren't so fucking familiar for the both of them. She's five years old; this shouldn't be something she's done before, not something she knows well enough to try and behave for. She shouldn't know how it works without prompting, but she comes to him quietly when he moves from the casket to take his place.

They sit at the graveside for the service, like family, and he wraps an arm around her shoulders when she turns into the side of him and leaves tearstains and wrinkles in the side of his suit jacket. He lets himself go under the Bethmooran language that Nuala grieves in; he closes the shutters again with the bible verse that he could recite along with her (but doesn't, never will). His daughter's hand curls inside his, and she hiccups herself still as last respects are paid and mourners begin to disperse.

She folds her parasol down as they leave the cemetery, watching the sky with dry eyes, and Sol smooths a hand over her hair when she says, "I'm not mad," quietly.