A gentle breeze passed through, leaves rustling softly.
The setting sun's gentle evening light was dampened by moving clouds.
The place remained silent, with only a few people standing, a sense of calmness masking the inner turmoil they felt.
The breeze moved again, fluttering the hair of a purple-haired boy sitting under a tree, his face lowered into his hands.
He lifted his face, blue eyes wandering over the rows of graves that spread throughout the field.
Some were old enough to have weeds growing around them, while the newer graves had soil still settling.
But his gaze froze on a girl sitting beside a grave—newer than any other.
She wore a simple black dress, her blue hair messed up and falling down her shoulders.
Her eyes were red-rimmed and hollow, having no tears left to shed, grief clear on her beautiful yet shrunken face, hand clasping a white lily.
