And then one by one she blew the shimmering light of the candles. Slowly did her skin immerse into darkness through the eyes of the wall and no longer was she a living or a dead but only a beakless mocking bird wrapped in the sweet delight of obscurity, shedding the lonesome tears of an ever-lost soul. The abandoned heart longed for what had escaped into the warmth of the mind and so the cycling battle of virtues had begun. But did it not last for long for water clothed the heat of the flames, which rose passionately through the pit of a maze. And once again was there any light left to be reflected onto and away from the crystallized soul.