She is dead. Everything he once loved is gone. That pure white snow that he once loved has all but melted away. Her death isn't just on me, the blame falls to you and the many people who, held out a hand to help me up. I know the night she died. It was the night that the last thing he loved about her died. Her innocent blood, spilled upon him, a stranger, not he, her first love, like was promised. She was not the only casualty. I know the day he died, too. She asked him if he still he loved her, and he said, “I love you, babe, pumpkin..., my little Amber Blossom," and in that I heard, the last of he who she loved die and fade away. That last sentence it took all of who he was to say, and now he is gone just as she is. When I look you in the eye now, which you seem not to be able to do very often, he isn't there. The way he looked at her with his perfect sky blue eyes, so filled with love is all but gone, and is so bitterly cold. I who now take her place, am built on, the cold,
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