72nd of Summer, 514 AV
The stone garden was beautiful. The ground was made of rocks, the rocks of fallen heroes. She felt her parents needed a stone there, her whole family. They'd cared for her, loved her, until she'd lost them. The thought brought tears to her eyes. She thought she'd gotten over the loss, that it had gotten easier, but in reality, this was the first time she'd thought, really thought about them in a long time.
Athaera sat down on the edge of the fountain, too sad to enjoy the wonderful sculptures and patterns. It seemed she always ruined happy moments for herself like this. Memories flooded back to her, rushing at her like a tidal wave, flooding through her, and leaving through her eyes as a salty liquid that fell down her face, splattering on the ground.
Her sister deserved to be remembered, the way she'd cared for Athaera when there was nobody else to do so. The way she'd been in Athaera's life, helping, caring, loving, a mother, a father, and a sister. Though they were only part related, her half sister had been her life, her joy, her everything.
He mother and father, she didn't remember them too well, but they still deserved a stone, each person in her family deserved a whole freaking boulder! They'd cared for her, and Athaera still cared about her father, even though there was that one time when he'd come home drunk and hurt everyone. The spot on her arm seemed to throb as she thought about this, but she still knew he'd cared. And her mother, cooking, cleaning, doing laundry. Athaera's father may have been the head of the house, but her mother had been the neck that controlled that head.
Athaera sat there, sobbing. Yes, her whole family were heroes to her, they deserved stones here too. It seemed four years didn't make the pain any less painful, but it became a little more bearable. Yes, all three of them were fallen heroes, fallen heroes that deserved to be remembered, just like all the less obvious miracles to humanity that shouldn't have died, that should've keep making the world a happier place. The people who fought weren't heroes, they were violent psychopaths who thought fighting would bring peace.