A symbol of rebirth hidden in the black foliage; a symbol imprinted under the skin where life was supposed to end. Grass grows on the ruins; life continues to flow as long as there is sun. Ellie, lost in the darkness, is looking for the light, but she doesn't realise she's lighting the way for you.

Her tattoo mesmerized you: the wings of a moth moving as if alive when she turned her hand. It was beautiful, symbolic; you, too, wanted to cover the scar spiked around your leg. To show that life could be drawn by yourself, and all events crossed out in ink for good—just kept in your soul, like a reminder to be strong.

Was Ellie enthusiastic? Definitely. She even brought snacks while you both were on the couch, casually throwing an arm or a leg over each other. Almost innocently, considering she was engrossed in developing a sketch simply by her own creative standards.

"A dragon?" she asks, showing you the drawing in her notebook and rolling her eyes as you wrinkle your nose in thought. "Actually, it means wisdom and a sense of limitless power."

Her fingers wrap around your ankle, pulling you to her with your indignant squeak. Her palm encircles your knee as she places the sheet against your skin with contrived professionalism, assessing the sketch.

You love her; she undoubtedly does, too. In a special way, leaving a place in her heart and immensely afraid of being alone, of missing your guiding hand in the pitch dark. But now it is spring, and in spring, the free flowers bloom, which have withstood ashes and blood. When the snow melts, washing away the dead, Ellie allows herself to breathe in and have a lazy evening, proving by her mere existence that strength lies in love.

"You don't like anything," she grumbles, raising an eyebrow. Her thumb rests on your chin, turning your head from side to side. "I should just put a joke on your forehead. Oh, or—no, no. 'We will survive against the universe. We will not be broken'. Sounds badass."