Looking back at my happiest memories feels like running fingers over old scars—some smooth and faded, others still raw. I once believed memories were like stars: distant, beautiful, untouchable. But I was wrong. Memories are bullets. Some just whistle past, leaving only echoes of fear. Others pierce clean through you, leaving you bleeding in silence.“Condolence, Anastasia.”“Anastasia, I’m so sorry for your loss.”“I’m sorry, truly.”I heard their voices all around me, but they sounded like a broken radio—faint, crackling, meaningless. I nodded out of habit, not because I understood. My eyes stayed glued to the casket, to the stillness that used to be my grandfather. My world felt like a glass vase tipped over in slow motion—falling, shattering, crumbling beneath the weight of my sorrow. “Anastasia? Can we talk for a moment?” Fayre sat beside me, her voice sounded soft but steady. I turned to her with empty eyes.“Sure,” I replied, though I wasn’t really there. “Your grandfather wants
Last Updated : 2022-03-23 Read more