Ana stood at the front of the church, her feet heavy, unmoving. Everything around her seemed soaked in a shadow too thick for the sun to pierce. The stained-glass windows scattered soft colors across the pews and floor, but even those rays felt muted, subdued—like they, too, were in mourning.
The sweet scent of incense lingered in the air, thick and relentless, mingling with the aged smell of old wood and melted candlewax. Beneath her black veil, Ana’s face was hollow. Her eyes—once lively and full of fire—were now rimmed with shadows, fixed on the single point that consumed her entire world.
The coffin.
It rested at the front of the altar, surrounded by white lilies and velvet cloth, heavy and still like the final punctuation at the end of a sentence that came too soon.
