Chapter Content
Anica sat so close to the bed that her knees pressed the frame.
Oskar lay there crowned in flowers, and she was slowly burying him under more.
She had gathered them into a small basket and carried it like a treasure chest. One by one she chose a flower, lifted it to the light with grave seriousness, turned it between her fingers as if judging whether it was worthy—then placed it gently onto the white sheets covering Oskar's bandaged body.
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