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In a drab of black and the weary, Eleanor Saint stood against Felix's casket, stuck staring at it for so long that her dress had gone wet from the pouring rain.

She watched as they lay the expensive wood on the ground, six feet under, and slowly, dirt covered the remains of Felix Catton. First, the flowers, then his teddy, and then the daisies that Elle placed right in the middle as an insult—because daisies smell like cat piss. On her hand was a bottle of wine that she never ran out of, conveniently brought by servants who followed them everywhere they went.

Elle kneeled in front of the freshly filled grave, letting her hands run on the dirt, clutching it in her cold palm. "Ellie." A voice whispered from behind, holding her arm as it kneeled beside her. "Ellie, come on." Venetia whispered, fighting back the sob that kept escaping her throat.

She looked at Vee, blinking the rain that poured against her eye, and with a trembling lip she spoke, "I wanna be with him, Vee." The Catton girl flinched, and then she cried on her shoulders.

"I'm so sorry, Ellie." Venetia whispered.

"I want to be with him." She repeated, moving her hand to take a drink. "Don't you?" Elle said, almost on the verge of laughing. Vee thought she'd probably lost her shit entirely, like the rest of them. On the days leading up to Felix's funeral, Elle locked herself in Felix's room, stewing, screaming, crying. The only ever time they managed to convince her to get out was to ask if she wanted to see Felix one last time. And it stuck to her, to Venetia Catton, that she'd never see her brother again. Her life will never be complete, ever again. Her heart tore over and over until she keeled over and cried at the grave.

The girls only stood up when Sir James and Duncan lifted them off the ground and led them away. They went to a river, Elle falling behind with a brand new bottle of alcohol, and watched as they dropped a stone on the water. A stone with his name on it.

Initially, Venetia wanted to hand her the stone, but afraid she'd chuck it further than she's supposed to, Elle refused and stood back.

Felix.

Goodbye, Felix fucking Catton.

The rain continued to pour and Eleanor Saint returned to Felix's grave.

The dirt had almost cemented itself to the ground, the land beyond was empty, and darkness had come. Saint took a step, and walked right in the middle of his grave, balancing the bottle of wine at the top of his lavish headstone.

Felix River Catton
Loved. Forever.

Elle clicked her tongue, dropping to her knees as she ran her hands across his name, engraved forever at the last place heaven will ever find him. She smiled, her white-toothed grin burst into laughter. "Felix." She murmured, "You're certainly loved." Saint laughed and laughed, and laughed until she bellowed a cough. "Oh, holy hell. I'm gonna need a drink." She dragged her hands on the bottle and put it against her lip, letting the alcohol drip on the dirt so carelessly.

"May I join you?" In her hazy state, she turned and saw Ollie walking in her direction. Elle stood, handing over the alcohol but he shook his head and stood next to her, looking at his headstone and sharing a quiet minute. "Are you sad?"

Elle smiled. "It's just a waste." She said, Initially, she planned to steal from them and make them all disappear one by one, but all plans have derailed, apparently.

Ollie stared at her, and Elle noticed the look on his face. Something between jealousy, hate, and utter devastation. She knew at some point he'd get careless since his obsession was unsurmountable enough for one person to handle—and he loved Felix, an idea of a man the world owed him to be. Admittedly, she took advantage of him as much as she could. And she did again now, as Eleanor Saint pulled him by his collar and kissed him.

They slowly made their way to the cold dirt of Felix Catton's grave, the coldness of the ground tracing her bare skin as Oliver intertwined their fingers above her head and held her there. He almost tore apart her dress, trying to unravel it, until he made his way inside of her.

Their lips met in a rough kiss and her world was thrown out of any sense when she saw Felix amid her drunken daze. She saw the way he looked at her with so much admiration, so much love that her heart began to ache horribly. It's as if she could feel him right there, with every thrust, she could hear his voice. "I love you, Ellie. I love you." Elle almost moaned his name out loud—only to blink again and find Oliver Quick in front of her.

Relief washed over her as they both came and laid down on the dirt, gasping for breath. In the guise of the rain, Eleanor gazed at the dark sky and tears flowed in her eyes. She turned over to stand, only to see his headstone, his name, something she could never, ever take back. "I'm leaving Saltburn tonight." She said, shaking the bottle that fell sideways on the grass and finding there was still a bit left.

They shared a knowing look, a silent agreement, and Oliver spoke. "I love you, Ellie." She gritted her teeth and smiled, waving away her last goodbye.

-

Eleanor walked on the estate with her head held high, intending to leave at the first chance since her job was already done. She'd ruined him, his lovely sister, and the meddling Farleigh Start. Whatever happens to them next is out of her hands and into Oliver's fate. Elle was delighted for the taste of revenge—but she couldn't take it too far or she'd lose everything.

Beautiful things take time, anyway.

She rounded on the cold, dark walls. Her direction towards the West Wing where she'll start packing her things up, leave immediately, and finally spend the remaining days of summer on their estate. The Saint's had no idea of her plans, she's too sweet—too innocent and fragile to think about things like that, which she dearly despised but used to her advantage. No one would look at Eleanor Saint and think she's a fucking murderer.

"Eleanor?" A voice made her stop, her blood running warm from fury she'd long to hide and keep as she turned to Elspeth Catton, running her weary eyes on the figure. Elle's gaze softened, her breath suddenly ragged as she drew close. "Ellie." Elspeth whispered, drawing close to hold her hand so carefully, afraid the Saint girl would break apart once more. "You're not leaving, are you?"

"I have to." She said flatly, forgetting she was supposed to be too devastated for her own good. But luckily, Elspeth was as dense as they come. "I can't stay here anymore. Everywhere I look—I can't, Elspeth."

She nodded, cupping her mouth to fight the agony she felt. "I'm—I'm so sorry, Ellie." Elspeth was the second person to feel sorry for her and it's beginning to be grating. "I'm sorry you couldn't be with my son. I would have loved to see you two together and be so happy, and—" She stepped back, looking up to halt the tears and preserve what little composure she still has. "I hope to see you soon, Ellie."

You won't. "Goodbye, Elspeth."

Elle packed her bags, careful not to leave anything she had or owned. The meticulously placed daisies on her mantel were thrown over the bathroom, she hated the horrid smell of it for so long she'd long to throw it in Elspeth's face. Eleanor looked around, over and under the bed for anything, and once she was satisfied, a servant came in and retrieved her suitcase, leaving her standing in the middle of an unruly, empty room.

Footsteps echoed at the door and it opened to Oliver Quick, nothing on but his robe as they shared a meaningful look. Eleanor nodded, and he did too, and as she walked out of the room, their hands clasped together. "For luck." She whispered.

Ollie stared at the blades in his hands and kept them in his pocket.

A black car pulled up on the driveway, and the rain had finally stopped. Elle paused at the steps of Saltburn, watching as the glamorous enchantment of paradise disappeared into an ugly, overdrawn castle with so much blood on it. Her eye lingered on a window, and she stared at Sir James Catton.

The man she still gets nightmares about.

For a second, there was a faint recognition in his eyes. But like Eleanor had known and learned, nothing ugly comes out of Saltburn. Not when there's nothing left. No heirs, nothing left to live for, and nothing left to cling on.

Just this, a speculation behind such knowing eyes.

Eleanor Saint smiled, and turned.

Eleanor Saint finally left Saltburn.