The sky was clear, even though the rays of the sun felt hazy. The temperature was cool, and one would normally feel calm under such weather, if not a bit lethargic. But Cynthia was not in the mood to enjoy anything, much less the weather. It actually felt as though the sky was not dull enough, not overcast enough, making it unable to show just how she was feeling inside.
Wearing mourning clothes, she was standing in the cemetery, her eyes a little empty even as she focused on the grave in front of her.
… a wife and a mother.
The words felt harsh in her eyes, like a mockery chilling her. She could not feel much warmth from her friends behind her, much less from the others attending the funeral.
Cynthia raised her head to look at her father to the side, her empty eyes unable to even produce a spark of hatred, because she was feeling numb instead, so numb that her eyes were not managing to produce the tears to show how much she was crying inside.