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Sakura-Angel: Turks drabble. The first time I've limited myself word-wise. Feedback is lovely, and thanks for reading.
Memorial
Tseng roamed the earth as a ghost, from the foggy peaks of the world to its ocean depths. He saw it all, and still, there was one place he could not put from his heart.
Red, yellow petals danced across the floor at his arrival. Three figures stood in silence, heads bent, proud navy blazers and red ties so familiar.
He maneuvered the wind to whisper in their ears. It whistled past, even though there were no gaps in the church's construction. It formed words to the timbre of his voice, all the notes of the E flat major scale.