Haunted Wood Cut myself on angel hair and baby's breath

The warmth of grief quickly subsided to a bone-deep chill. That was the thing about loss. The blood welled, and then it dried — at least until the scab was ripped away once again.

Her shadow watched her.

Alara dried her tears and lifted her chin, eyes meeting his in defiance. She drew herself up with a single step forward. This is not the sea, Her eyes were cold, but her voice was soft; filled not with blame but grief. Could he not see that she was fading with each passing day?