Four years ago, Lucius was returning from a funeral, dressed in a black suit. His appearance was disheveled; his hair unkempt, bruises marring his face. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, revealing that he hadn't slept in days.
The driver stood by the passenger door, holding it open for Lucius, but he shook his head, declining the ride. "You go ahead. I'll make my own way home," he muttered before walking aimlessly down the pathway, barely aware of his surroundings.
He had no sense of time or direction. The weight of grief and exhaustion clouded his mind until he happened to glance up. The sky was darkening, the evening clouds heavy and threatening rain.
Lucius lowered his gaze, focusing on the ground ahead, when suddenly a young boy bumped into him. Startled, both stopped, and the boy quickly apologized, his voice small and nervous.
