DARIAN

The air felt heavy, and it pressed down on me like a physical force.

I hated it, hated the way it clung to my skin, making every breath feel labored. The air smelt of mud, expensive cologne and death.

The crowd around us was a sea of black, their faces shrouded in somber hues as the priest droned on in a monotonous tone that seemed to stretch on forever.

I stood there, frozen in my grief, as the rain pattered softly against the fabric of our umbrellas and the sound of muted sobs filled the air.

A tiny squeeze on my forearm brought me out of my reverie, and...