A heavy mist; so thick that it was almost tangible, shrouded the cemetery. Its skeletal arms twisted around me and held me close. I was glad of the comfort. The gravestone seemed to loom in front of me, domineering in a way its occupant never could in life. I feel to me knees as despair overcame me. This was it. This was all that was left in my life. Death. Victor always thought he was the cursed one, the one who brought death upon our family. A laugh escaped my lips at this thought, although such a laugh could hardly be called that, so mirthless and filled with despair. If Victor was the cursed one, why was he blessed with death? The anguished laugh once again filled the air. No, Victor was not the cursed one. I was. For what reason I knew not, but I was sure of the fact nonetheless. I was cursed to live, while those around me suffered and died. It was a fate worse than death. As I came to this realisation, on my knees in a deserted graveyard, with stone angels with broken wings, and crumbling cross', I cried. I cried for Victor, for Elizabeth, for my beloved father, for William, for Justine, for my mother, but mostly, I cried for me; the life behind me, the life ahead of me. As I lost myself, my bitter, broken sobs were swallowed by the mist.
