As the car rolled to a stop in front of the St. Rochs cemetery, Percy's senses were immediately inundated with an array of sights, sounds, and sensations that seemed to emanate from behind the imposing gates. The air was thick with the musty scent of decaying leaves and damp earth, intermingled with the faint aroma of incense from nearby memorials. The distant sound of crows cawing overhead added to the eerie atmosphere, their calls echoing through the silent grounds.

  The Gothic-style chapel, its spires reaching towards the sky, dominated the center of the cemetery, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch out and envelop everything in a cloak of darkness. Despite its imposing presence, there was a sense of quiet reverence that permeated the air, as if the very stones themselves whispered tales of sorrow and loss accumulated over centuries.

  As Percy and Madame Vostick stepped out of the car and retrieved the bags of boxes from the trunk, the weight of their task hung heavy in the air. Percy hesitated as they approached the wrought iron gates, a sense of foreboding creeping over her like a chill down her spine. She stopped abruptly, startled by an unseen force that seemed to pull at her, urging her to turn back.

  Madame Vostick's stern voice broke through Percy’s trance, snapping her back to reality. "Now Percy, I know I taught you better than that," she admonished, her tone tinged with impatience. "What's the problem, child?"

  Percy struggled to articulate the unease that gripped her, a vague sense of dread that clawed at her insides. "It's... it's a feeling," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "A presence that wants me to leave."

  Madame Vostick's expression softened slightly, her eyes reflecting understanding. "Well, of course," she replied, her voice gentler now. "Did you think the spirits would welcome you with open arms, bringing these... thugs into their home?"

  Percy shook her head, her earlier naivety now replaced with a dawning realization. "No, I suppose not," she murmured, her gaze dropping to the ground. "I didn't even consider that aspect of this."

  As they pushed open the heavy gates and stepped into the cemetery, Percy couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, of unseen eyes following their every move. The ground felt uneven and unstable, the earth soft and yielding beneath the weight of their footsteps. She shivered involuntarily, a chill wind sweeping through the graveyard and carrying with it the whispers of the dead.

  As they stepped into the eerie stillness of the Vostick family crypt, Percy couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled over her like a heavy shroud. The air inside was thick with the scent of ancient stone and the musty odor of decay, mingled with the faint aroma of incense still lingering from their earlier preparations. The dim light cast flickering shadows against the walls, dancing eerily in the corners of the cramped space.

  Madame Vostick's voice, though soft, seemed to echo unnaturally in the confined chamber, a reassurance amidst the oppressive atmosphere. "Come now, child, we have work to do," she said, her words carrying the weight of centuries-old wisdom. "Don't worry, the ancestors will keep the rest away from us as soon as we step in."

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  Percy nodded, her heart pounding in her chest as she set about arranging the ritual tools on the cold stone floor. The texture of the ancient stones beneath her fingertips was rough and uneven, each one bearing the witness of countless generations of the departed.

  With the circle drawn and the candles flickering to life, Percy felt a sense of purpose wash over her, a fleeting moment of clarity amidst the chaos of her thoughts. Together, she and Madame Vostick began the solemn task of binding the boxes to the earth of the crypt, their movements methodical and precise.

  As they worked, Percy couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, the sensation of unseen eyes boring into her from the darkness beyond. She shivered involuntarily, a chill running down her spine as she poured her energy and will into the ritual.

  With the last of the sigils painted on the door in saltwater blessed by the chapel's priest, Percy felt a sense of relief wash over her, the weight of the world momentarily lifted from her shoulders. As they locked the door behind them and stepped back out into the fading light of day, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of melancholy tugging at her heart.

  Madame Vostick noticed Percy’s troubled expression and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "What's troubling you, my sweet girl?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine concern.

  Percy sighed, her gaze dropping to the ground as she struggled to find the words. "I'm a train wreck, Madame," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "My life has been full of darkness and pain for so long. I miss my parents, I've lost too many friends... and the worst part is, I have to keep lying to my brother about it all."

  Madame Vostick's expression softened, her eyes reflecting understanding. "You don't have to carry this burden alone, my dear," she said gently, squeezing Percy’s shoulder reassuringly. "We'll get through this together."

  As Percy stood in the fading light outside the crypt, a sense of loss settled over her like a thick fog, enveloping her in a cocoon of sorrow and regret. The setting sun cast long shadows across the cemetery, painting the tombstones in hues of orange and gold. The air was still, save for the distant sound of leaves rustling in the breeze and the faint echo of church bells tolling in the distance.

  Madame Vostick's words, though comforting, only served to deepen the ache in Percy’s heart. The depth of her grief felt tangible, like a physical burden pressing down on her shoulders. She could almost taste the bitterness of her sorrow, a bitter tang that lingered on her tongue like the memory of tears.

  "Oh, my poor baby girl," Madame Vostick murmured, her voice soft with sympathy. "These things are forever. The pain you carry, I cannot lie, will hurt until your dying day."

  Percy nodded, her throat tight with emotion. The texture of her tears, hot and salty against her cheeks, served as a stark reminder of the depth of her anguish. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself against the onslaught of emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

  "You must know in your soul that the work you do is for the benefit of many, many people," Madame Vostick continued her words like a beacon of light in the darkness. "I am so proud of you for the work you do, sweet girl."

  "Thank you, Madame," Percy replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "That means a lot to me."

  Madame Vostick's question about Percy’s brother brought a bittersweet smile to her lips. "He's doing well," she answered, her voice tinged with sadness. "He's down in South America, doing the same thing I am up here."

  As they turned and walked away from the cemetery, Percy couldn't help but feel a sense of longing for her brother, a pang of homesickness that gnawed at her insides. For now, she pushed aside her sorrow, focusing instead on the warmth of Madame Vostick's hand in hers, and the promise of a simple meal shared with a dear friend.