There was a fog.
Ariel had no idea whether it was all cemeteries. But for the particular cemetery that she was visiting. Every time that she went there, there was always a fog. Most likely it had to do with all of the trees and the humidity, especially in the early morning hours. But she liked to think it was something more than that.
Something supernatural.
Like maybe the fog was made up of the spirits of the departed. The tiny drops of moisture being loved ones trying to touch those who were still living, and offer comfort.
It was a childish thought that had no bearing in reality. But it soothed Ariel to think that. That morning as she walked the path to their parents' grave. The fog was still there. Ariel like to think she could feel her mother's soft touch against her cheek, and her father's strong hand over her shoulder.
