They buried him beneath a white stone, as if purity could erase the truth.
Everyone said it was an accident.
My mother cried for me. My father raged at fate. The court mourned a political loss.
No one mourned the love.
I stood before the grave long after the others left. The wind cut through my dress, but I didn't move.
"I didn't mean to," I whispered,crying heavily.
The earth did not answer.
That night, I scrubbed my hands until they bled, as if love had left a stain I could wash away.
I didn't know then that this was only the beginning.