Once upon a time, a blind boy begged him to describe the colors of a perfect sunrise.
He knew it was impossible to fulfill that wish, but he promised that one day, the boy would know the sunrise, even if he had to wait for other eyes to see it for him.
But deep down, he knew—that was just an empty hope. A prayer that would not save his life.
As he walked, the only sound he could hear was the crunch of his footsteps on the rain-damp grass.
He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, wondering how one could define the gaze of a statue. He could feel those stone eyes piercing through him as he crossed the plots. The old cemetery gates creaked as they closed behind him.
The wind rustled the branches of the trees, whistling, and he was grateful that what he carried inside his suitcase remained safe.
In the distance, he saw the ruins he once called home, and his feet sank into the grass as he made his way down the path toward the small wooden cabin—one that required no key to enter.
After all, this was the home of the dead.
He never thought he would return. But in the end, it had happened—the stone pearl had shattered.
A dormant promise had begun to stir.
Once inside, he couldn't resist the impulse to throw open the single window, and the wind rushed in, threatening to extinguish the flickering candle flames.
Was it snowing?
No, it was petals. Hundreds of them, nearly translucent white, swirling around him.
No matter how long he had been away, everything remained just as he remembered.
It was heartbreaking that the face of evil could hide such beauty.
He shook his head with resignation and turned to look at the suitcase now resting on the table. There was no reason to keep delaying that moment.
He unfastened the golden clasps and held the delicate porcelain figure in his hands. He stroked the doll's soft hair beneath its small blue hat, but its gleaming eyes said nothing.
He had to accept it—his last companion had become nothing more than a toy.