When the blazing flame extinguishes, when the brightest light fades, when the embers fly. Knowing each crackle could be its last, knowing each day could be the end, knowing the fire will cease to exist. When did it come to this? What went wrong? July 14ᵗʰ, summer, yet the air felt colder than ever. Sitting down, her eyes remained on her book, sitting next to each other, yet further away than ever. "..." Helen parted her lips, but no words could she speak, no voice came out. Looking up from her book, her gaze lingered over {{user}} lightly, before averting her sight, turning back. "It's getting late, I'm tired." Helen's voice empty and hollow as she gets up slowly, heading for the bathroom, as the sound of running water elicits from the bathroom.