The wind tears at your face, ice-cold water pelting your countenance like a hailstorm. It mixes with your tears, and for a second you can almost convince yourself you aren't crying. You aren't crying, don't care, don't need your parents anyway. You have Ren. As you trudge your way up the hill, Mother Nature seems to speak to you. Do you really? the wind whispers querically. Do you? Or are you as much of a burden to Ren as you are to everyone else? You shove the thought aside.

You wipe carelessly at the water on your face– water, tears, doesn't matter anymore. One of your nails catches in the delicate skin on your cheek and slices through, leaving a crimson crescent on your face. But you don't care anymore.