Whose sorrow is this and whose ending is it? Someone walking alone in the wind and snow is the only color in this boundless snowfield.
Finally, he stopped and looked up at the church that suddenly appeared in front of him. The colored glass was reflected in the unfocused black pupils, and his spirit slowly emerged. Dry and purple lips opened and closed, and the whisper was swept away by the wind and snow, echoing tenderly and tenderly in the lonely white sky: "We are here."