Slithering spectrally like a sinister snake, a blanket of darkness cascades across the smooth and lustrous pillars and onto the hexagonal patterns on the floor. The designs cover the floor until they reach the surface of the mirror and are reflected to form an endless array of patterns. They possess no longing whatsoever to move beyond their peaceful position, like freshly fallen snowflakes - both an icy menace and yet an embodiment of pure elegance and delicacy.  A man sits dejectedly on a maroon armchair, allowing the darkness to envelop him, as if shielding him from the pain that suffocates him. Yet, no matter what he attempts, there is no way of concealing the inner pain that that is wedged like a blade in his soul. Staring at a shattered photo frame, that once represented a cherished memory but is now torn into pieces that serve to do nothing more than accumulate dust, he realizes how much the house resembled himself - an old puzzle with a piece lost, but never found. As his eyes carry to the drapes that shuddered gently with a cold blast of wind, his mind floods with memories of the time where he could do much more than count the hours, day by day.

He can still feel her presence, her strong lavender perfume scent that mixed eloquently with her floral dresses. The way the light danced across her hair that was the colour of a ripe chestnut, like a hummingbird flying nimbly through the amber rays of a sunset. Of course, she never failed to leave parts of herself all over the household. He could see her in the lace tablecloths covering the cabinets, in the arcs that held up a foundation of the buildings, in the luminous polished mirrors. For while she may have abandoned him, her reflection has never ceased to exist in the placid surface of the glass, like the one shard of a broken heart that he has been unable to let go of. The musky aroma of death hung in the halls. The death that befalls someone’s senses after they allow hope to blind them and as a result forgo the valuable lessons of their past while diving into the prospects of a new promise. If only he knew then what he now knows. No phrase has ever resonated with him in the way that the old saying ‘history repeats itself’ currently ruminates in his mind as he brushes his fingers gently across her old bracelet like a mother stroking the head of her crying child. He is no longer able to taste the fragrance of hope, as he had been able to do for the longest time.  He knows the time has come as he unclasps the gold charm with an engraved A allowing it to fall to the unforgiving hardwood floors with nothing more than a short mournful while liberating sound. He had always visualized more grandeur in this moment, the bittersweet empowerment that of coming to terms with the truth. But then again, when was the last time that anything in his life had transpired as he had imagined?

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Allowing her heartbeat to become one with the rhythm of the horses galloping, the young woman embraces the whispers of the wind in her ears and treasures each moment that it caresses her it strokes her chestnut brown hair. As she glances ahead to the finish line, she envisions the echoes of the music of joyous applause that will soon resonate through the stadium. She is, however, unsuspecting of the icy blast of wind that carries her into the air as if she were a mere feather fruitlessly attempting withstand a storm, and tempestuously thrusts her upon the arid ground. She feels as if she is consumed with flames, flames so powerful that the ground disintegrates beneath her and she falls through into an abyss where darkness suffocates her and ---

Adrijana wakes up with a sudden jolt, and violently pushes herself off of the bed in an attempt to rid herself of the traumatic memories of her dream. It had been almost three years since the accident, and yet she is still unable to break free from the dreams that keep haunting her and to accept fact that the young girl in her dream is none other than herself. Walking wearily across her room, she slips on a wool sweater to appease the intense feeling of cold that radiates through her entire body. As she opens the window, she cringes at the vicious wave of light that besieges her eyes. After initially shutting her eyes tightly, she gradually opens them and allows all of her senses to be flooded with the signs of spring. She has made an incredible recovery, like a seedling prying its head above the callous and frigid ground, soon to be bathed in the radiant incandescence of the sun. She knows that she cannot allow the occasional hailstorm that tears leaves off her sprout like a wild animal ravaging for its prey to deter her. It would be a tragedy for all of the sacrifices she has made to be where she is today to be in vain.

The beauty of the mansion that was once filled with the echoes of music and laughter pervades Adrijana’s mind, but she is remorsefully aware that only one man sits beneath exquisite pillars and arches that not only supported the building but the deep bond that existed within its walls. If she had not spent those nights in that house, watching the amber rays of the sunset tango elegantly beneath the horizon, she would still be living in fear. Fear of not only of her past, but of herself and the possibilities of her future. No longer able to conceal the truth, she finally contemplates the reason why her dreams have recently returned, the reason why her bliss has been tarnished with the bitter sensation of shame.  If she wishes to remain happy, to remain sane, she knows that she must return to the place to which she owes her recovery. While one cannot deny that nothing lasts forever, what is the crime in attempting to retrieve the joy that had liberated her from the boundless void of despair?