____
Anna Ancher
1891
____BURY a friend. Try to wake up. An endless hell. Unforgiven mind. Merciless lies. Bewitching promises.
Hands intertwined underneath a greyscale sky in the middle of a torrent rain. Black umbrellas gathered around mixed with muffled whimpers of pain. Solid stone expressions facing an open tomb about to be closed.
Katia Rojas was an innocent woman.
Family members who cried their hearts out expecting to wake up from that nightmare, throwing themselves above the wodden surface of the cold casket.
A loving sister, aunt and friend. Specially the last one.
Whispers and prayers, tears already dry and marked cheeks with bloodshot eyes.
A confident, a protector.
Even the youth mourned for the one who left the living that day, trying to contain the tears running down her face, Isabel Rojas tried her best to keep it together, just as her aunt would desire.
Her protector behavior cost her life.
A mother hugged her child, trying to disguise that she was the one who needed comfort.
A brave woman willing to protect her friend, and yet served as the mean to make her protegieé even more attached to the threat she fought against.
Groans and screams from a brother once so alive and joyful, now surrended to the pain and torture of loosing someone he loved so deeply.
Katia Rojas death wasn't an accident. It was planned, intended. After all, she was an obstacle.
It took some time until other relatives could take António Rojas from the casket he hugged so tight, believing that his sister was still alive inside there, breathing.
She was alone. Working as the strong woman she was, providing comfort to her family. But instead, turned into a victim on her way home.
Holding the man who cried in yellings, they slowly let down the casket into the grave. Another step towards the no returning act of mourning.
Walked on her feet, didn't have enough money to afford a car. And, I surprised her within the shadows, attacked her, wrapping my arms around her body.
Flowers, roses to be exact, all lined up to show respect and a last tribute to the woman they admired.
Even on her last moments she tried to fight, but the grip onto her body was stronger. All she could do, was take a glimpse of her attacker moments before her life flashed in front of her shaken pupils.
Friends and relatives gathered around, letting roses fall into the grave, slowly touching the casket, forming up a pile of red petals above. Lovely, if not tragic.
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¹𝘾𝙃𝙄𝘼𝙍𝙊𝙎𝘾𝙐𝙍𝙊 | Hannibal Lecter✓
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