Gilbert was surrounded by white. Everything white. Where ever he looked, white. His cloths, white. Skin, a white color. Hair, white. Shoes, white. Wings, white. He was just in an open white field. He took a step forward. "I'll get through this. My awesomeness is better than this," he said to himself. He went to walk forward, but a screen appeared in front of him. It was of the war. Elizabeta was standing in the mist of bloody bodies. She was wearing his blue jacket. She held her bloody blade. She was wearing a small brown battle skirt. A man walked up to her. He couldn't hear them. The man said something and walked away. She started to cry. Gilbert put his hand up to her hologram face. "Don't cry, Frau. I'm still awesome as ever." He spent a few minutes with his hand to her face. She stood. He watched her walk the closest building. She pulled a booklet from her skirt pocket and a pencil. She start to wrote.
'Dear Diary,
We won the battle. I have lived, and Russia. But he always lives. But this is not why I'm writing.' She started to write in German. 'Gilbert worden getytet auf Kampf. Ich nie haben das Zufall zum erzählen ihn ich liebe ihn. Ich Zusage ich Wille bekommen rache auf dich, Gil. Dich sind mein eine und nur liebe. Und dich versprach zum aktive. Dich versprach zum heiraten US-bundesstaat. Ich liebe Gilbert.' He quickly figured out what she wrote. But he only cared about the last part. She wrote that she loved him. A strange feeling built up deep inside him. A little voice in the back of his head said, "The hitting was a lie. She always loved you. She always will."