The cold wind whipped at her face. In the distance, she could smell smoke. It was not tobacco smoke, nor the smell of cheap birthday candles smoking long after they were blown out. It was not an arid smell, dry and harsh on the lungs. It was the wonderous smell of a wood fire. She could almost feel the warmth...

The feeling vanished. In the darkness of the surrounding trees, she felt alone, so utterly alone. The gray green pines quickly lost their color as the sun sank in the distance. A lone bird called; it was such a forlone sound, filled with hopelessness; a breeze ruffled the pine needles of the surrounding trees, intensifying the feeling. If anyone knew she was there; if anyone saw her face; if anyone knew what it meant. Each possibly in itself was so remote, that for all three to be true...

She was alone, so very, very alone. For she was in The Land of Sorrows, where pain ruled and love was against the law...

She was so alone; trapped; a prisoner in her own mind...