‘-A flower, perched atop a high rock.-
-A beautiful thing, made of many colors.-
-The wind blows around it, a feeling a majesty prevailing.-
-But then… A large, silhouetted shape dives past it, letting out a angry roar towards the heavens, gliding into the distance.-
-The flower, stripped of its petals, floats to the ground…-
-… Into a waiting hand. A pale hand.-