Christine walks quietly through the cemetery, her eyes scanning over the names on each and every grave marker she passes.
She knows her Papa is buried just a few yards away.
But she hasn’t visited his grave in many years now, having grown used to the grief and used to the fact that she has much bigger things to worry about. Things that would sneak up on her weeping form when she least expected it.
She comes to a stop in front of a fresh mound of dirt, sighing softly to herself as she slowly sets her things down.
Just beneath that mound of dirt is a monster waiting to burst free and terrorize all of Paris itself. If Christine has anything to do with it, the deceased man won’t make it past his own tombstone.
She’s just about to settle in to wait for the man to rise when she hears a soft crack from a twig. She knows it’s not him, of course, given the fact that the soil he’s under has not been broken yet, but she’s been doing this for quite a while now, and a human has never come to the cemetery this late.
Which means it’s something else.
A moment passes and she hears nothing more, but she knows that there are eyes on her.
She sighs. “I know you are there, so you may as well come out.”