There was once a little girl. A human, with light brown hair floating in the breeze, standing amidst the tall grass. There was also a little boy who stood next to her, holding her hand, looking into her brown eyes.

Green into brown, brown into green.

"Will I see you again?"

"Of course."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

It was so easy. A word, effortlessly slip past his lips. What was a small lie to make her happy? So he promised to see the little girl again, thinking she would forget it soon.

But little girls grow up and become beautiful young women. And beautiful young women, no matter how much they dream, have to move on in life. Beautiful young women get married, and have children, but in each of those young faces, they see their shattered dreams. They see themselves clinging stubbornly to childish notions of love. They see themselves waiting patiently for people who will never come.

Beautiful young women grow old one day, old and withered, and they discovered, that they still dream of green hair and green eyes and a cold smile; forever waiting.

Waiting for spirits who never wanted to keep their promise; for little boys who never grow up.