Beautiful Funeral Novels & Stories

Shane takes it and rises to his feet. As the hour approached for the final goodbye, a procession formed outside the church where the hearse awaits, a solemn carriage of finality with its doors open wide like an embrace. The pallbearers step forward to carry the weight of the departed, a gesture both symbolic and profound. A heartbreaking sob escapes Shane as they push the coffin in, I grab my friend’s arm to steady him as my own heartache flows down my cheeks. Lorenzo wraps his arm around my waist to steady us both. The funeral cortege forms behind the hearse as it makes its way through the quiet streets.

How will I be buried? I will never know. But at least I can imagine. What is a royal funeral? The annual budget of a big city, cast to the wind. A gilded coffin, black fabric of mourning over the entire capital, black horses of the funeral cortege, black-clad courtiers, flags at half-mast and mournful music, black and gold, black and gold everywhere. Also everywhere are the hypocritical mourners, fake compassion written on their faces...snots... Mugs, that’s the word.

They carefully pile up some fingers to send to the gambling dens until Mick growls, signaling everyone to back off. I wasn’t sure how the bastard was still alive, his heart was barely recognizable. Mick trots to him, staring down into his bleak eyes. He’s on his back now, his guts exposed. A quick swipe across his face with a claw draws blood, coating Mick’s paw. I had no idea what I thought I’d feel at this moment. But I just feel dead. Because there are so many more Stephen Millers in the world. It’ll never be enough. Mick growls so loud, it practically shakes the room. He bares his canines, wanting them to be the last thing this piece of shit sees.

For spending my entire life as their emotional punching bag and financial safety net? The darkness is closing in faster now. The beeping slows to a crawl. Somewhere far away, I hear the machine make a different sound—a long, sustained note that I know means the end. "Is that it?" Elena asks. "I think so," Father says. Mother sniffles, but when I force my eyes open one last time, I see her face. She's not crying. None of them are. They look... relieved. The final sound I hear is Elena's voice, bright with something that might be happiness: "Finally. I need to call the caterer—we can move the funeral to Tuesday if we do it early. That way it won't interfere with my dress fitting."

she whispered as we parked, her voice small but earnest. I squeezed her hand, my throat tight. “We’ll make sure she is, sweetheart,” I said, though my heart twisted with worry. I didn’t know how Milla would get through this, how any of us would. The funeral was held in a quiet corner of the cemetery, under a canopy of old oak trees, their leaves rustling softly in the breeze. Two caskets stood side by side—one for Theo, one for Ben, their polished wood gleaming in the muted light.

Sebastian scoffs "She's had your kids but she isn't married to you by law so she is fair game." Before they can continue their argument, I stand and walk away. I hate flowers now yet the whole place is littered with flowers. Mother pulls me into her arms and I let her. For once, I don’t fight it. “He was brave,” she whispers. “He loved you fiercely.” I nod against her shoulder. “I didn’t get to say goodbye.” “You don’t need to. He knew you loved him.” The funeral planning starts immediately. “What kind of service?” Richard asks hollowly.

The funeral rites were about to commence, marking the beginning of a painful journey for our family. The park, usually a place of joy and laughter, now bore a solemn ambiance. The trees stood tall and motionless as if paying their respects to the departed soul. The gentle breeze carried a sense of melancholy, whispering its condolences through the rustling leaves. The atmosphere was heavy with grief, each mourner wearing their sorrow like a cloak.

But in the end the funeral was very nice and elegant. Jake had control of the body during the funeral because it seems like the purple flowers that surround the coffins and most of the aisle and chairs at the funeral were wolvesbayne and Paul only felt the effects when he was in control of the body. The whole thing was white, the casket, the vase the flowers were in. Even Glory's dress was white while Emmett's casket had to remain closed for obvious reasons. Even though there was a bullet hole that was sticking out of the middle of her forehead. Overall the funeral home was very peaceful but the two boys had no luck in finding out any information.

This doesn't look like a funeral at all. I haven't seen a single person shed a tear or even look sad. Then again, this was to be expected. Everyone is dressed in black as is custom but instead of crying they're holding glasses of champagne and wine, toasting each other. If I didn't know better, I'd think this was a party, which works for me. I can take people's condolences but they shouldn't expect me to act like a grief-stricken daughter. Deep down I'm happy Padre is dead. I hope he rots in hell.

My oldest sister, Stephanie, died this morning. Pack and religious tradition dictates that we must hold funerals within 24 hours of death. Because Stephanie died shortly after midnight, her funeral must be held today. All food and décor set aside for my birthday party was therefore immediately diverted for the funeral; thankfully my fall themed colors were sufficiently somber-ish to work. All decorations that seemed relatively “happy,” celebratory, or that mention me have been removed. Pictures of Stephanie have now been placed on tables and podiums, and the music I selected has been swapped out for songs about loss or Stephanie’s favorites.