A week later, on the day of the burial.
The sky was gray and gloomy, with a faint drizzle. After the start of autumn and more rain, the air carried a hint of chill.
In the cemetery, the guests wore black clothes, holding black umbrellas in one hand and a bunch of flowers in the other.
Their expressions mournful and silent, they stared at the photo on the tombstone.
Seward Howard's face was childlike, pale as paper, and incredibly frail.
A faint smile lingered at the corners of his lips, his eyes bright and spirited, giving off an air of refined grace and clarity.
In the endless drizzle, Gwendoline Sonia wept with bloodshot eyes, her body shaking and on the verge of collapse.
She discarded her umbrella, crouching down. Her blue dress became soiled with mud, her expression wretched.
Sonia pressed her face against the cold tombstone, reaching out to caress Seward's photo, constantly wiping away the rainwater for him.
