Every paper crane she ever folded, she received a fragment in return.
A fragment of sadness, of people's cries of what she could have been.
A fragment of society's old path they had so carefully planned out and called destiny, fate.
Some were just shards, uncompleted gray pieces of glass that would never be finished.
Others were the paint, the one that kept flowing out the weight of the world's cruelness.
She had folded so many cranes…
She had folded the role of a big sister.
She had folded three children's hope.
She had folded the boy's fate, and stopped him from going down the bleak route of unhappiness.
So many gray fragments…
So many tears…
So many reasons for unhappiness…
So many red eyes…
She had protected him that day from being called a monster, and later on took the beating of those old words.
She had protected her from despising the world, and created a crimson brick home where she could hide with her heart open.
She had protected him from the loss of another loved one, and taught him how to truly read and understand people's motives, without knowing them at all.
And she had protected herself from the paint by using watercolors.
The watercolors blurred the bold reality and brought forth something beautiful from darkness. She had brought forth something beautiful from that darkness:
A boy.
His fate was changed thanks to her leap.
Her scarf still flowing as she hit the ground, creating her final stained glass crane…