Nought but the fragile light of the moon licked at her face. All around her, the flowers glistened in the rising dark, fireflies flitted and danced in their practised plays. She was submerged in a deep sea of life, how ironic. Behind her, through the door, there stood men and women she once knew but could no longer place, crying. She wanted to pat their shoulders, to heal their broken, dishevelled forms yet she was rooted to the spot, unable to look back.
With a sigh, she whispered the names that came to her head and carried on slowly walking.