Chapter 52: New Traditions
The Grief that was left behind had everyone in silence. Grief has a strange way of stretching time. Days fall into one another, marked only by the quiet rhythm of the living. The house felt noiseless now, though not in a peaceful sense. It was the kind of quiet that came after storms, when the air was heavy, when even laughter seemed afraid to resurface.
Tiania moved through the halls with careful steps, her hands often brushing along the walls as if touching the home itself would steady her. She had cried until her tears has dry up into something sharper, until grief had became a stone she carried inside her chest. Yet she knew she could not sink beneath it. Not when Henessa still looked to her with wide and searchful eyes. Not when Henrick’s strength faltered the moment no one was watching.
Edwin had been the one to suggest it first.
