Lying in a field of snow, a child, wrapped in her hair. There was neither sun nor moon nor breath upon her lips. No thoughts behind her eyes. It was a quiet life, where the skies were white and snowflakes appeared from thin air. And the child smiled. This was everything; this was enough. The wind said You are beautiful and kissed her body, filling, floating a perfectly empty soul. But forever didn’t last. For in her vision stood a darkly figure, black billowing around a pointing finger. You, it said. And the child quivered and ran, when the monster grabbed her by the hair and twisted each strand and drew the body towards it. There was blood on the snow. The childs eyes were wet; the figure hissed into her ear Guess who it is that holds thee now? Death? My tears implored. Hands around my throat it sneered, Not death, but life.