the legend of Claire Ashdown.

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Lea pressed her cheek against the cold marble, trying to imagine her best friend's face.

It scared her how much she'd forgotten about Claire already. She'd almost forgotten the arch of her eyebrows; the curve of her smile like a rainbow, and just as rare to spot.

She'd almost forgotten the richness of her throaty laugh, the kind people had from smoking too many cigarettes.

Most of all, she'd almost forgotten the sense of comfort, the feeling of home that nobody but a person you loved could bring.

This was the first time she'd allowed herself to visit. She hadn't even gone to the funeral, didn't want to sit amongst the sea of black among people who pretended to know and people who pretended they cared.

No, she would mourn privately. She would mourn for a soul, not a body, and she didn't need to see the grave to know Claire's soul.

But she had felt a pull today, a strange desire to see what was left of the legend of Claire Ashdown.

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