Jasmine Fenton, now grown, knelt in the cold, dewy grass near her brother's grave.
It had been a year, now, since Danny had jumped to his death from a building in downtown Amity Park. The wound had healed somewhat over the past year, as such pains do, but still the grief seemed fresh in her heart. Then again, she was a sensitive young woman, and felt with great intensity - so great, in fact, that she had to take care not to open her heart too much. After her brother had died, however, she had closed herself off to nearly everyone, and was only now beginning to be able to open herself again.
Sighing, the redhead reached into her handbag and pulled out a small bottle of blueberry-flavoured vodka, something her brother had acquired a taste for after he and the man who'd been his arch-nemesis had started hanging out together.
She had kept that secret, among others, for him - and she kept his secrets still, hard as that was to do.
It was still kind of hard, too; to believe that two such enemies had become friends - or that the older man had fallen in love with her brother.
She looked over at Vlad's grave - for there it was, right beside Danny's. The man had changed his will before his fatal plunge, leaving part of his fortune to his few remaining relatives - and the rest to the Fentons. He had also, she had learned later, purchased the plot in the Amity Park cemetary in which he was buried now - and he had done it mere hours before his fall.
When Danny had died and her parents were too grief-stricken to make the arrangements themselves, she had honoured her brother's wishes, expressed in his last letter to her, and she'd purchased the plot next to Vlad's for him.
She still remembered getting that letter from him. He had written two separate notes before he died - one for her, and one for the police to find. And still she remembered that moment of heart-stopping terror and grief when she'd finally comprehended what her little brother had been trying to tell her.
She shook her head, trying to disperse the memory - slowly, slowly, she mastered her emotions.
Jasmine took a square of silk from her purse, wrapping the bottle of vodka in it and setting it between the two graves. She sat back on her heels, glad that they both had such a lovely place to rest in - and that they were buried together.
She didn't begrudge them that.
The woman stood, pulling her coat close in the chilly October air. The breeze picked up, and, as she turned to leave, she thought she saw two birds flit by - one grey, one a sparkling white - out of the corner of her eye. But she turned back to look, and they were no longer there.
She smiled as she left the cold graveyard for her nice, warm car, with a lightness of heart she'd not felt in a long, long time.
It would seem - or so it seemed to her, anyway - that, even if only in death, love could be requited.