Work Text:
She cannot cry, so she hums as she stabs the ground with her hands. Her face is smeared with dark streaks of dirt. I watch from the branches of the old willow, as she digs a shallow hole in the ground below, the moist earth staining her hand black.
She climbs into the hole, curling herself into a ball as she cradles a bloodstained scrap of cloth to her breast. I thought that Alice had removed all the remnants from the house, but she always seems to find something, to help her remember. To help her grieve.
Bella whimpers and I close my eyes, like a coward. I cannot bear the sight, but I can still taste her guilt and anguish in the air. I would tear out my heart if it would relieve her of this never-ending agony that she carries like Atlas. My wedding gift.