The snow fell in soft, unhurried flakes, each one catching the pale winter light like fragments of shattered stars. They drifted down upon the hill in a silent, endless procession, blanketing the graves in white, smoothing the sharp edges of stone and memory into something almost gentle.
Cecilia sat on the cold ground, her back pressed against the solid weight of a tombstone. Above her head, a simple umbrella arched like a protective wing, shielding both her and the stone from the falling snow.
Before her, half-buried in the accumulating white, sat a bottle of amber liquid and two small glasses. One was full, untouched, an offering. The other she held loosely in her gloved fingers, the warmth of the alcohol spreading through her palm.
"Can't believe I actually found you this time, Dr. Silver."
