“The flowers are beautiful,” Fanny said as she bent down to touch the nearest blossom. It was orange like the sunset they had watched last evening.

“I don’t see how you can find beauty here,” Dahlia said with a shake of her head as she hugged her arms tightly across her chest.

Fanny stood up with a shrug. “The rows are beautiful, so peaceful. How can you not like them?”

“Because of what they represent.” Dahlia reached out and tugged on her arm. “Let’s go.”

Fanny took one more look at the rows of flowers that stretched to the horizon, gently swooping rows that followed the contours of the hillside and path below. She let Dahlia lead her back into town. As they stepped back onto the sidewalk, they passed a sign that read “Flower Rows of the Dead.” Only Fanny looked back when the breeze wrapped a heady floral scent around them like a tendril trying to lure them to return.