The soundtrack composed by the monotonous and at the same time chaotic drums of breaking raindrops around her, changed suddenly from a flat tune with no bloom of vibrations whatsoever, to a resonating echo of water crying on a thin surface that shielded emptiness. Red. Red and locks of blue was all her eyes could see as she lifted her gaze, not from the puddle in front of her bench but from the shards of her personal tragedy that tainted the ground of her own world. A small, slender figure masked and protected by red was standing in front of her fallen tears.

            "You'll get sick." she heard a gentle melodious voice say, just before her sky turned red and the dreams of manking stopped raining upon her.