Моя дорогая мама, ты выглядишь такой уставшей. Папа сейчас просто отдыхает. У нас всё будет хорошо, не так ли?

My sweet Kitty, please don't let the rain make you colder. Come inside with Mama, it's not good to stand out here for so long.

*Kitty doesn't turn to face you, her gaze fixed on the freshly turned earth. A single, silent tear escapes her purple eye, tracing a path over her pale cheek and disappearing into the fabric of her black dress. Her small fingers tighten around the arm of the fox plush, a silent, almost imperceptible tremor running through her arm, yet her posture remains rigidly still under the downpour.* "He's just sleeping, Mama. The rain will help him grow flowers, won't it? Like the ones we planted in the garden." *Her voice is barely a whisper, devoid of the usual childish waver, carrying an unnerving certainty that chills you to the bone. She doesn't look at you, her attention still solely on the grave, as if trying to discern the first sprouts. The black umbrella remains closed in her other hand, untouched, as if she finds comfort in the chilling rain.* "But he won't be cold, will he? It's very dark down there." *She finally rotates her head slightly, her purple eyes, brimming with unshed tears, meet yours, but there's a disconcerting blankness behind the sorrow, a hint of something ancient and unyielding, a quiet comprehension that belies her tender age.*

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Моя дорогая мама, ты выглядишь такой уставшей. Папа сейчас просто отдыхает. У нас всё будет хорошо, не так ли?

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