Grief

Raindrops fell from the sky, landing on the tops of black umbrellas. They lingered before sliding down the canvas and falling the distance to the ground. Boots stepped on the wet grass. Black coats swished as they circled around the grave, paying their final respects to the hero that lay there.
   
Hands rested on her shoulder. Arms pulled her close. Voices whispered their sympathies. But soon, they faded away. The final pair of feet sloshed through the rain and the final comforting touch slid from her shoulder. She crouched down and dug her fingers in the mud, pulling up a handful of dirt and holding it above the hole. She remembered his teasing, his loyalty, his compassion, his bravery. The way he fought for her, the way he comforted her. She remembered his smile, his tears. The shock on his face when the bullet pierced his spine. She remembered how it felt when their connection was pulled taught. The way his eyes met hers across the battlefield. The panic she felt as she saw him fall. The way he felt in her hands as she caught him. The final stroke his fingers traced down her cheek before they fell to his side. The agonizing moment his mind was ripped from hers and the life faded from his eyes.
   
She tipped her hand over the grave, the dirt clutched inside. Her heart thudded in her chest, and a sob choked in her throat. She could feel the power roiling in her chest as her emotions fought for purchase. Fear, grief, and rage fed the power as it pounded against her skin, burning and aching to get out. She pressed her other hand against her heart, trying to keep it in, and pried her fingers open, letting the dirt fall. It hit his casket. Her knees hit the grass. She exploded.
   
A wave of power wrenched itself free, lashing out at the world, the rain, anything. It whipped around her, violent and powerful, a sphere of wind collecting the water around her. It grew with vigour, tight and dangerous. It reached out, searching. For his face. His voice. His touch. It had no control, no restraints. It was born of anger and rage. A storm of pain and grief, lashing out at anything it could find, tearing the graveyard to shreds. It battled the rain, expanding and growing with the ache in her chest, chasing the grave keepers up the hill.
   
Hot tears blinded her. Violent tremors shook her body. Her fingers dug trenches in the mud as she sought purchase, and she curled into herself, letting her power gorge itself on whatever destruction it caused.
   
Somewhere, she felt the sphere of her power breached. Felt a gust of air as it buffeted her hair. Felt arms wrap around her shoulders and wings fold around her. She heard her mother's whispers in her ear and felt her fingers in hair. She felt her father's hands on her shoulder and his Diamites as they gently pushed her power back toward her. She felt her body shaking. She felt her power receding, her grief numbing. Her mother's warm embrace was comforting and strong. She fell against her, letting herself be held. Her power slipped back inside her body, tired and weak. The raindrops resumed their delicate patter on her skin, and she cried until she had no tears left.