Night, like ink stains. The snow sounds like forging and cutting.
Dots of snow in the black curtain, entangled, flying, dotted...
On the vast snowfield, stood a thinly dressed girl, her lavender clothes rustling in the wind. Her eyes were blurry and empty, looking longingly into the depths of the snowfield. It seemed like he was looking at something, but also like he couldn't understand anything.
The girl's eyes suddenly became dull, and her fingertips seemed to have just regained consciousness. She slowly raised her arm slightly and grabbed it into the air. As if she had exhausted all her strength, her legs softened and she knelt down on the snow.
Not knowing what she was giving up silently, the girl closed her eyes slightly, and a tear fell down her face into the snow. She raised her hand to wipe away her tears, breathed a sigh of relief, and stood up from the snow with difficulty, but still turned around firmly and walked silently in the opposite direction...
The night is still very long.