The world was alive once more. Birds singing, flowers blooming, all signs that a war had taken place only a few months earlier seemed to fade into the background as the vibrant colour spilled over into the world surrounding.
She longed to be apart of that colour, the feeling of being alive. To her everything was covered in a brown sort of soot. Her sepia-coloured world left her dissatisfied. A feeling of emptiness stuck to the back of her mouth near the entrance of her throat blocking her airways, and slowly suffocating her.
Well that's what it felt like, truth be told no matter how real it felt she never collapsed nor cried out in pain, expect those times when she would scream silently into her pillow at night, thrashing around – just trying to feeling something other than the numbness that consumed her mind, and dulled her senses.
"We've won the war" the phrase lacked meaning, winning did not compensated the horrifying loss. Friends, family, Draco. Dead …or worse. The hardest thing she'd ever had to do was watch as they lowered Draco into his grave, a crude hole in the ground with a simple message carved magically into a surrounding stone.
Death no longer held the value it once had. It was accepted, almost expected. Those who survived would never be called survivors – most had parts dead or close to dying. Their humanity dissipated. They were empty shells wandering this world without purpose.