His eyebrows were furrowed. Eyes tense. The brim of his eyes
welled with tears. His stare was sharp enough to cut through glass, yet it was
staring at nothing. A trickle of teardrops fell from his eye, and ran down his
nose; pausing at the tip. His fingers trembled; unsure of wanting to wipe away
the tear. Fingers slightly shaken, slowly clench into a weak fist. He lifts it slowly
up to his face, and tries to get rid of the tears. Beside him is his wife,
whose arms are folded across her body. Closed off to the world. Her face is
blank. No tears, no red-rimmed eyes, no furrowed eyebrows. Instead, she betrays
no emotion with her luminous stare. Her breath is deep and calculated. Her hair
immaculate, her complexion flawless. The only sign of her grief is the slight
tension in her jaw; and the occasional tremor she lets out as she tries to
swallow.
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