What she’s been told was that she was in France. She got the name of the church where she can be found and set time from her school break to go to her. It took all week but now she was on a flight to the city of lights.
The gates creaked as she made her way through the old yard. The church, thank god, still stood, quaint with well-trimmed grass that was damp by the quick rain - but she did not care.
Many graves laid side by side on the ground. The names were grey but still clear and then, she saw her for the first time.
She knelt down, placed her gifts on the flat stone and sat in front of it.
“Hi, Faith.” She began as she ran a hand in the etched name. “I’m Bree.”