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'Tristan Mortel' was the name engraved on the tombstone. A woman with her white hair laying down on the ground as she was sitting in front of that tombstone stared at it.
Her eyes held no emotion, not even a hint of sadness.
And yet, she kept coming and coming. One day to one day, the rainy day, the late-night after her work. The woman who didn't cry at his funeral kept coming to visit him, sometimes talking with him like he was in front of her.
It's been months, a fall season has already passed, she still came with a white flower every time she visited him.
It was the little girl he used to hate, the one he hated for his entire life, it was Marinette.
That day, rain poured down on her black dress as she also left the funeral losing another one of her beloved. There was still a stain of the tomatoes they threw at her still hanging on her black dress.
