The rain fell harder and only the frequent flashes of lightning that came from the sky could reveal the dark and mysterious young girl, who looked but the age of 10. She crouched by a gravestone of her beloved sister, whom the young girl had only lost a few months ago. The rain fell hard, but not hard enough to miss the potent taste or sound of sadness and pain in the air. The tears that escaped her eyes could only be seen streaming down her cheeks due to the long, black cloak that covered her eyes. The girl stood slowly, and gently placed a single, perfect rose on the tombstone before her. The white rose was placed so carefully one would have thought that the young girl had practiced this same ritual many times before. When the girl finally stood up to leave and started walking towards the village again, she turned around one last time to see the grave that she was abandoning. The wind blew against her and the drenched hood of the black cloak she was wearing rustled and lifted up slightly, revealing her eyes. For a second, to those who truly understood, the girl’s soul was shown. Those empty eyes, full of sorrow, hatred, and pain. But, of course, no one could really see what those eyes that held so much suffering and pain really meant, because no one truly understood how painful it was to have the gate to your soul shut for good. And with that, the young girl turned around and walked back to the village quietly.