Their mother's funeral is as bleak as the woman herself — attended by the local church dwellers, but no friends or family save for them.
"May she rot in hell," Lucille murmurs, spilling the dirt between her crushed velvet, black glove.
Thomas says nothing, in agreement or reprehension. He sets a hand comfortingly upon the small of Lucille's back, steadying her rage.
She decides to vent it, as a pale grey twilight creeps upon them, lifting up her petticoats and aggressively fucking Thomas against their mother's gravestone, shrieking into his mouth.
Crimson Peak isn't mine. I haven't tried writing for Lucille/Thomas yet! I did Lucille/Edith already. Any Crimson Peak fans, feel free to say hi! Thanks for stopping in and if you enjoyed, please leave a thought/comment! I'd appreciate it bunches! :D