Like a duckling who has just burst free from its shell, she stares into the wide open plains. The night is young, adorned with a crescent moon that hangs sadly in the midst of pale sparkling stars. Her heart bleeds with the corpses of a thousand memories, but she has been long accustomed to it. Even now, the thistle's presence intrudes upon her every waking thought. His somber meow is the last thing she hears as she slips into sleep and the first thing she notices when she rises to welcome the day. There is nothing but sadness and fury in her blood now, although tears cease to fall as she wanders through the maze of her grief, wide-eyed to even the faintest signs of her beloved.