warning - the story doesn't really match the pets, just thought they looked lovely together ;A; 
As I stepped out of the car and onto the smooth pavement outside of the church, a storm brewed in my eyes. A waterfall of tears threatened to cascade down my face, and lightning bolts of pain struck my heart continuously. My father saw me falter and grabbed my hand to steady me. He gently tucked my arm through his and let me lean on his sturdy shoulder.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, his voice deep with concern and his face lined with worry.
I swallowed as a lump of unshed tears forced its way down my throat and nodded, not trusting myself to speak in fear that I would completely lose it before even getting inside.
His clouded brown eyes studied my tearful blue ones. He hesitated only a moment longer before calling my little brother to his side and together, the three of us stepped through the doors of the church.
There were people everywhere, all dressed in black. Some were crying, some were laughing, and some were standing as still and as silent as cold marble statues. Each one of them was here to mourn; to grieve in their own separate way.
“Madalyn!”
My head turned at the sound of a woman’s voice calling my name; it was Olivia Macleod. She walked up and swept me into a hug. No words were needed; her embrace was enough to cause us both to start sobbing. We stood there together for several minutes before she finally released her hold on me, wiping her eyes.
“Would you like to see her?” she asked. I was afraid to answer, afraid to say yes. Mrs. Macleod seemed to read my mind, because she touched my arm reassuringly. “Don’t worry, they made her look pretty … she looks like she’s sleeping.” She offered me a weak smile and I knew what my answer had to be.
“Take me to her.” I said, signaling for my father and brother to come along with us as well. Icy claws of fear gripped my stomach as the four of us made our way to the back of the church and through a wooden door behind the alter. As we entered the small room, I felt my heart slam into my chest. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight that met my eyes.
There she was, Lilliana Marie Macleod, my best friend in the entire world, lying in her coffin. My mind went blank and in a numb, frozen trance, I slowly stepped forward.
Her mother had been right; whoever had prepared her body had made her look beautiful. But as I studied her features, I realized it was a waxen beauty. Her skin had a shiny look to it, her lipstick was the wrong shade of color, her delicate fingers looked impossibly thin, and her hands were placed limply atop her stomach, holding a single white rose.
“She looks like an angel, doesn’t she?” her mother said softly. Then, looking at me, “You can touch her if you like.”
Her words startled me, and I could hear my father murmuring his doubts.
“Olivia, I’m not sure if that’s a good idea …”
I raised my hand to silence him. Ever so gently, I ran my fingers through her soft, strawberry-blond hair and lightly caressed her artificially rosy cheeks. Her skin was cold, but if felt oddly familiar beneath my touch. Tears fell from my eyes as I continued to gaze down at her. A small, whimpering sound drew my attention to the far end of the room.
My little brother stood with his back pressed against the wall, a shocked expression on his small, pale face. He looked stunned and sad and as his watery eyes met mine, they sent an unspoken message:
As much as you’re hurting, I’m glad that’s not you. ---
[I think there's something wrong with me.....this was originally a happy story and somehow, it came out as.....this.....] 
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This is my best story ever.
