She always said that they were too particular with these things, and she was right. I'm standing in the foyer with the rest of the congregation when my eyes fall to the ground. There are pink and white rose petals in the doorway that outline the walls. White, for the death of a loved one, and pink for a young woman.

The petals guide us to the closed doors of the sanctuary. I thought I was ready, but I need air and the walls are closing in. Candles are already burning in the windowsill. Heat surges through my body when the doors swing open, and the music begin to play. I get a glance of her thick curls in the casket before spinning on my heels, desperate to leave. Arms grab me, attempting to pull me back but I break through, and in a moments notice I am out of the chapel.