Everyone in Victory Square cheers when the white doves rise into the sky. Then the bells ring and the crowd dispenses. The warmth of hope that enveloped her all night slips away like a shawl off her shoulders. She tries to hold on to the upbeat mood. She wants one night without worries.
But if the crisis is over, why did the curfew bells ring?
She shudders as she approaches the apartment building. The street is littered with white feathers. In a pool of blood, she finds three doves. Shot down.
Her hope plummets, like the doves must have plummeted.