It was meant to be melancholy, black, stained with the tears of those in mourning of the girl before them. She gave them a pact to keep breathing, keep smiling through the pain but she didn’t. They gathered, feeling their acidic tears burning their cheeks, no gain to be made from mourning the loss of her. They wanted to be grey, black, devoid of colour but a splash of red, orange. Bird. Why was it here in this ceremony of death? A lone soldier pioneering for hope, for love, a new testimony for this loss of life. A woman smiles from afar, the profound knowledge that the bird is hers, a lone gift travelled miles to stain the portrait of grey and blue hues into something colourful, a new muse.