A Chilling Calm

She did not scream. She did not weep. The author of a thousand sorrows had no more tears to give. Instead, a chilling calm descended upon her. She reached out, her fingers tracing the outline of the dead flower, and as she did, the story of Silverstream began to change. The sky, once a placid blue, bled into a bruised purple. The gentle streams that gave the island its name ran black with ink. The very air grew heavy, thick with the silent promise of retribution. She was no longer the grieving sister. She was the avenger.