Under the sunlight, Ann Nolan steadied herself against the tombstone, her gaze falling on Harper Glorian.
The pale backdrop, the desolate chill, the barren landscape.
Wherever one looked, there was hardly any color, like a monotone ink painting.
More than a year had passed, and she could see that Harper had changed significantly.
Her once long, straight black hair was now dyed with streaks of brown and curled. She used to have a bit of a girlish look, but now she fully embodied the appearance of a mature woman.
Harper carried a dark gray bag on her back, her face devoid of much expression, yet she, too, looked at Ann.
For some reason, Ann thought Harper seemed thinner, her complexion slightly haggard.
Ann even noticed faint crow's feet at the corners of Harper's eyes.
When Zaiden Santos was alive, he had cherished Harper, holding her in the palm of his hand, unwilling to let her frown, let alone gain a single wrinkle.
