Azrael’s POV
To enter the cemetery I must skirt around a pile of brown frosted leaves, the innumerable flashing fragments shine in the brilliant wintry light, for today there is no weather; no wind, no cloud, just subzero temperatures. Even the leaf stems lie white and sharp. Ahead the path glistens like white quartz, yet ice crystals on weary concrete is all it is. All this beauty over everything dead. And here I am to add to it with a bunch of pink roses in my gloved hand. I pause, my breath rising in visible puffs, then I remember why I came. I need to talk to her and this is the only way. I'm not here for her, not really. I'm here for me. The proximity to her frigid bones and the gift of flowers will close the gap between us for a moment, and in that brief window of time I will feel h
