It was dark. The only sound was the cicadas singing and the soft breeze rustling through the leaves. Autumn had come in all his finery, but Maria could find no joy in his pompous displays. Her heart was broken, and all she could remember was the day that her daughter had died. Tears, salty and warm, dripped silently onto the windowsill like rain. Anyone looking at her would have thought she was a ghost, and in a way she was. The bubbly Maria who had been the life and soul of every day was gone. In her place was a stranger who had no sense of time and spoke in a voice as hollow as the deepest caverns of the world.
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