Agnes
The morning of James’ funeral was gray, cold, and drizzly, which was rather fitting given the circumstances. I stood in front of the mirror, mechanically tugging on my simple black dress while Elijah grimly adjusted his tie in the background. His eyes briefly met mine, his lips tugging upwards into a thin-lipped smile that had no humor in it. I just stared down at my feet and sighed.
Neither of us had spoken much all morning, not for lack of wanting, but simply because we couldn’t seem to find the words.
But what was there to say? How could anyone find the right words on the morning they would have to bury a friend? Especially one who had died because of our mistakes, our misplaced trust.
I would never stop blaming myself; I had Lena in my arms, I knew she had the st
