The cold rain clings to the skin like countless slippery tentacles.
Shen Qingci stood in front of her sister Shen Qingyu's tombstone. The black marble was washed shiny by the rain, reflecting her pale and blurry reflection.
She did not hold an umbrella and allowed the rain to soak into the too-large black windbreaker she wore, which was her sister's clothes.
The air was mixed with the smell of earth and the sweet smell of lilies before they rotted, and everything made her nauseous.
A man wearing a courier uniform suddenly appeared at the end of the cemetery path, holding an eye-catching bright yellow umbrella.
