The cemetery in winter was even more desolate than usual, stripped of the greenery brought by plants, leaving only a monotony of black, white, and gray in sight. The few people strolling through the cemetery wore monochromatic clothes, which, though not sackcloth, were a modest expression of their sentiments. Being in such an environment felt like stepping into an old, colorless photograph.
And in such a cemetery, there was one tombstone that was slightly different from the others.
All made of grayish-black rock, all with simple decorations, yet there was something about this one that made it stand out. At first glance, the tombstone did not catch the eye, and even the gifts placed before it were sparse, suggesting that the person buried there hadn't been widely social in life. There wasn't anything particularly eye-catching about the gifts' quality either.
If one were to ask what made it distinctive to passersby in the cemetery, the answer might revolve around "atmosphere."
