“Suddenly, Alcandor felt warmth, comfort and strength flowing from his daughter’s tiny hand, clasped within his own. He remembered the experience afterwards as if her tiny hand were clasping his, keeping him from falling into the open grave. Damaris was only a little girl, but he was glad for the strength of her hand.
However, the reassuring warmth suddenly became a consuming heat. The blood rose like a boiling tide from his churning stomach, washing up over his neck and into his head. He thought he was about to suffocate. The sudden rush of heat speared like a javelin into a focal point at the back of his skull, and he knew then that Constantine’s eyes were upon him.
The sudden awareness of Constantine watching him caused him to release his grip on the anaemic white flower in his left hand. He watched it twirl and spin on invisible currents of air, until it settled softly atop the flowers that had gone before. He thought of the eternal rest awaiting it, and envied it intensely.