The hall did not change after Liu Fang was gone. That was the worst of it.
Liu Fang, or what remained of her, lay huddled on the floor, a still, grey form that had once been a woman, but now was merely an echo, a fading impression. The memory of her, once a vibrant presence, was already dissolving, a cruel, insidious process that gnawed at the edges of their minds.
"Liu Fang… did she always wear… that?" Sun Mei whispered, her voice reedy and thin, barely audible above the ringing silence. Her eyes, wide and unfocused, darted from the indistinguishable shape on the floor to the coffin, then back again. A tremor ran through her, a visible shiver of profound unease. She reached out, as if to touch the memory, but her hand fell uselessly to her side.
