She leans against the cold stone, the echo of his name still etched into her bones. The rain doesn’t wash away the memory, it only deepens the ache. Beneath the crescent moon, among the silent graves, she becomes part of the night itself: dark, beautiful, broken. Her breath is steady, but her eyes betray a storm she can’t outrun. Love, lost too soon, lingers like a ghost on her skin... soft, painful, eternal.
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