"Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves." - Emily Brontë
Hazel's face remained stoic as the news of his death reached her ears. Without a hint of emotion, she left the hospital. "Prepare a fitting funeral for him," she instructed her personal assistant, her voice devoid of warmth as she walked away. Climbing into her car, she continued in the same cold tone, "Now it's time to strike at MK Groups. Leave no mistakes, no traces for the authorities."
As she drove, she turned on the music, the lyrics resonating with her feelings.
"It's alright to cry, it's alright to be sad,
It's alright to let teardrops fall from your eyes.
Even the darkest night will find the light,
And dark dungeons will surely see the light."
........
Back at home...
........
In the privacy of her room, Hazel shed her outer layer, donning pajamas. She sat before the mirror, admiring her own beauty, only to break into tears. Her cries echoed the emptiness she felt, the world around her devoid of meaning. A lonely woman faced with her own solitude, she cried out, "No, I will seek revenge! The pain is unbearable... hahaha." A sad laughter escaped her lips, her beauty somehow still evident despite the sorrow etched on her face.
Unbeknownst to her, fear is the anticipation of pain. Though no one was there to console her, the old Hazel had vanished, leaving a new, hardened version in her wake. Rising from her seat, she rushed to the bathroom, splashing water on her face. She changed into fresh attire, grabbed her car keys, and hurried to her vehicle.
Her speed was unrelenting as she drove, but fate had other plans. A truck collided with her car, sending her careening into the depths of a forest.
.......
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