Rolling through the soft wind, leaves fell from the vast grove. Sitting deserted among the fallen foliage, an elegant redhead streamed with tears. Deep red, coily hair gently hung over a tear-stained, distressed face. The wind was howling with the fragile figure- howling. Like an injured bird, the young face cradled the ever decaying flowers. Perhaps this day was her breaking point or perhaps this was the day she learnt to fly. Gathering from her heap, the small frame leaned away from the freshly laid soil. The soil was new but the soul was old. Deep and decaying, buried under the tossed soil, the redhead's guardian laid in their final resting spot.

Moments before, the young woman dropped her head at her elderly grandmother dressed in fine whites and violets. The pure and the royal. In the young woman's heart, the recently departed was a queen before her time as she taught right from wrong and joy from despair. Maybe, one day, that throne would be passed down to the girl kissed by fire. Beautiful and young, the distraught woman had watched the noble queen as she was lowered to the depth of the earth. She'd have held herself together if she had a family to comfort her but her only family was her grandmother who was being reunited with Mother Nature itself. One would think the cynical look of life was cruel but the elder had made peace with her life and raised a pure young woman in the meantime.

'Lives are like rivers: Eventually, they go where they must.' These the words uttered in a speech by the priest who knew very little of the hardship the guardian and the guarded had endured. Although the priest attempted to comfort the young beauty's breaking heart, he failed to help the grief that tore the fragile woman to pieces. 'I know today is difficult Renée, but life will go on' the final words of the holy man had been the last figurative nail in Renée's fall into depression. Following, this would enable the seeping anxious and timid ghosts to possess the young woman.

Relinquishing the slowly wilting bouquet, Renée deserted her position on the ground. Hours had passed since the pretentious priest had left the redhead alone and yet she felt more comfortable now than in the hour service she had to endure. Flickering strands of stray red hair flew into the sight of the small woman as the wind ushered her away from the resting spot. Dried and forgotten, the fallen tears had taken residence upon the black chiffon of the dark outfit. A river of emotions had plummeted during the small funeral service but now the dams were holding back the current flood. Praying to break free, the tension of the fragile woman stiffened her torso making it impossible to curl up and cry- no matter how much her heart needed to.

Drifting back to her honest home in the heart of the city, the lamb admired the tiny families and fresh spirits that, seemingly, had been untouched by apprehension and loss. New Orleans will cultivate you about yourself, but if you want to hide from who you are, the city will enable you to do that, too. The lights stood so loud; the redhead could scarcely see beyond the grimace of the crystalising tears. Alive and thriving, the streets set off the shallow service and intimate burial which tore a hole in Renée. Escaping from the loud life of the love-filled city, the fragile frame unwillingly hobbled through her pain to the minor comforts of home.