It's needless to say that being out in a snowstorm is dangerous. The wind blowing with ferocity— your hands are freezing, trying go hold onto your jacket. You're walking around the forest; roses covered by snow.

They're oddly pretty. Its crimson shade contrasting the white landscape, just like the ruby around your neck in a lace. You stop for a moment; you're cold, but not alone...

And there's no coming back from where you came from, as your footprints were smeared by the hail.