If only she'd known the snowflakes that had fallen to the seemingly visible ground was all to treasure her pure silliness existence. Do you think she would let the window open and welcome the crystallized souls drenched with unforgiving lost memories and hopes? Do you think she could ever pull out a beating heart from her hallow fully tainted veins and single-mindedly throw it away out into the empty quiescence ocean? In the core of her paradise, she has once abruptly spoken; she wants to be taken away by the luscious wind. She wants to be taken care of by the willows and the mellow ground. She has dreams. Unwillingness, unfulfilling dreams. But she doesn't want to encourage them. Because if she did, then they will all be gone. And all that's left to herself is nothing but oblivious limbos.