Hades!Canada X Goth!Reader
I was near tears. Today was the anniversary of my grandma’s death. She was the closest to me out of everyone. She was the light in my world, and now that she was gone, I felt empty inside.
Breathe, (F/n). Breathe. It will be over soon.
I clutched the bouquet of pink carnations, in my fist, as I walked to the cemetery along the sidewalk with my walking stick that had a steam punk gun handle, and my tote with a steam punk crow on it, black mascara running down my face from me crying on my way here. It was a warm, full moon autumn night; I had just come from my job as an art appraiser of Gothic and Victorian jewelry at Tiffany’s Auction House.
I stopped short of the closed iron gates that lead into the cemetery.
I looked down at myself.
I was no longer the bright angel Grandma knew and loved. I went Goth after she died.
I wore my favorite pleather and lace boots with the witch heel, my spider web pantyhose, black mini skirt, and my satin shirt with the lace sleeves and scoop n