The skies were infected with the colors of her lost. Endless shades pulling her to remorse. Pulling and retracting her to a cruelty. A cruelty she cruelly refracted back out unto endless shades of the night sky. Infinite spectrums of heartache, infinite riddles of pain poured through the prisms of her eyes. The flood was upon her with not a levy to guard her from the water's rush. Waters rushing swifter with every quiver of her now chapped lips. Swift were the currents, but not near as swift as the thrust of the winds that brought them. For what is the tide to the storm that summons it. What are the waves of pain to the hurricane that bore them from asunder. What were the echoes of her sorrow compared to the man who first spoke them.