Winter.

When I regretfully gazed upon the isolated icicles, eluding themselves from a state of serenity, I deemed it impossible and perhaps inconceivable to conjure a concept of more tragedy and sorrow.

For there not a more suited representation of the heart I had once laid before her, sealed within the soul of such sinister nature. Perpetually preserved in a final act of sheer desperation.

I know that Winter approaches. Not by the alteration of seasonal scenery that Humanity has become accustomed to. No. I know of her pursuing due to the emptiness that exists within the fragments that was once my heart.