He stands tall, unwavering, basked by the kaleidoscopic glow of the round stained-glass. Cold hands lay the glass coffin in front of the aged old altar.

Silence reigns unchallenged. No one dares to utter a word. Every soul present holds its breath, as though awaiting a terrible sentence. A final judgement for the condemned.

The bell tolls, uncaring.

The blue eyes, once believed to hold the beauty of the sky, now reflect the grey gloom of a brewing tempest. With the ghost of affection, his hand opens the glass coffin. His knees meet the harshness of the stone floor, while his trembling fingers clutch unto the pale hands of hers. He whispers loving words amidst a torrent of the unending stream.

The bell tolls for the final time.

Cold hands grab him by the shoulder, pushing him aside. They close the coffin, harshly, indifferently, in front of the broken man. Everything is done before he can blink away the tears. He hears gentle laughter from afar. Beyond the stonewalls, the dead foliage echoes the subtle words of farewell spoken in the freezing air. Thus ends her funeral in winter.