Cold. She felt cold.

Distantly she was aware of the voices. If she listened intently she could make it out.
They were asking her how she was. Was the blank stare not enough of an indication?
She rather be curled up somewhere, quietly subsisting in her own world.
But she had to be here.
It was sunny and too warm. But she felt compelled to pulled her arms around herself, shoulders hunching forward as she swayed slightly, as if some external force acted on her, trying to squeeze her out of its atmosphere.
It moved into her line of vision and her body gave in to the pressure. With a sharp intake of breath, she crumbled in an ungainly heap.
Someone rushed to help her but she hugged her knees to her chest.
She must have done something because they backed away. The sea of sad eyes and pity laced faces.
In a furious surge, she thought how stupid they were.
Anger.
Anger was the answer. Anger was easier. Anger was comforting.
Anger would keep her warm.
She glanced at the casket.

She wanted to be warm again.