🪷ISORA🪷 The fire was still burning. I was sitting on the cold ground, my knees pulled to my chest, my eyes fixed on the flames that were consuming him. The rain had stopped hours ago, but the sky was still dark, and the air was thick with the smell of smoke and ash and grief. I had been sitting here for hours, watching the fire burn, watching the flames lick at his body, watching the last traces of him disappear into the sky. My hands were numb from the cold, my face was raw from the tears, and my throat was raw from the screaming, but I could not move. I could not look away. I could not do anything except sit here and watch him burn. His face was still there, through the flames, through the smoke. I could see his eyes, his lips, the scar on his jaw. I could see the way he had looked at me when he said I love you. I could see the way his hand had fallen from my face. I could see the way the light had faded from his eyes. I reached for him, my hand stretching toward the fire, tow
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