{action}

[Angelina stands at the familiar voice, flowers tumbling to the earth from the basket her gown folds had made. She hesitated, the wind catching her skirts. Grell would have recognized her garb- it was the very gown she had been laid to rest in. Yet, gone was the pallor of Death, the strewn funerary flowers of her coffin. Her complexion was healthy and warm, save for one new, grotesque feature. A deep, gnarled scar neatly between her breasts, drawn by the path of a chainsaw. She was still unaware of it.]

Oh, there you are.

...A gown?

[Angelina saunters her way up, gently tugging at Grell's gown with discerning fingers, feeling the thick fabric and making sure the silhouette helped with his- her rather difficult frame. She didn't seem to be upset, merely curious. Other than the sessions of sneaking the reaper into her dresses, she hadn't seen Grell wear one.]