THIRD PERSON'S P.O.V
His protection.
It's a beautiful cloudless night. The breeze is cold and the wind was making it colder. In an old man's embrace laid a broken soul that lost her voice for the second time in her life. The mood is gloomy. Gloomier than funeral as the father and brother duo tried to figure out what broke their angel. The broken angel, however, was whimpering like a wounded cub. Tears as precious as the last drops of water in desert, where the scotching sun burns hot the oasis completely dry and the desert unbearably. Tears like water from a running tap, all shed for the one person to whom her heart belongs. The one whose love hurts her most. Tears worthy of bullets. How bitter the salty water from the eyes when triggered by the darkest deepest memories that you tried to bury for years.
