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“Her grief is a palpable thing. It isn’t weeping or wailing, at least not from where I can see. It isn’t crying out or screaming to the skies. It’s a quiet pain that sneaks its way into conversations around the fire. It tinges old memories with a layer of regret and burrows deep enough she carries it without anyone noticing.” — C.A. Farran
Her grief is a palpable thing. It isn’t weeping or wailing, at least not from where I can see. It isn’t crying out or screaming to the skies. It’s a quiet pain that sneaks its way into conversations around the fire. It tinges old memories with a layer of regret and burrows deep enough she carries it without anyone noticing.