Elena’s black, bejeweled dress moistened by the wet earth folded neatly under her knees as she tended to her royal-purple petunias. Her black-red irises roamed over her dying garden, doused with blood and water.

Her mind, quiet and settled, focused on the chords of the piano song playing faintly in the house.

She stood up, her black veil hiding all signs of emotion as she dusted off her gown and entered the tall-standing home.

She begins to prepare supper, awaiting her children’s return.