• The air was crisp, the wind harsh against any exposed skin left to its fierce temperament. It was dark, early morning with the sun just reaching over the horizon, leaving a trail of pale yellow in its wake. It was in conditions such as these that the stage was set, a glass fortress reminiscent of a large greenhouse, including a menagerie of plants in vases on all sorts of alabaster holders that contrasted with the dark concrete that made up the floor. It was at the top of this structure stood a figure, standing on a ledge created by the missing panes of glass that made up the roof. She stood on the precipice, dressed in plain pants and shirt, what skin left exposed a raw pink. Her face looked almost as plain and blank as her nondescript clothing. Her cheeks were a raw pink, her lips chapped, a neutral line on her face, her eyes dull and obscure of any clear emotion. Her stance on the roof was firm, not at all swayed by the wind howling past her, moving her long mousy brown hair. She stayed in place, almost like a grotesque statue, haunting the place. It was here she stayed, for minutes, hours, time was not prevalent, and at an undistinguished time she was no longer standing vigil of the glass palace. Not by the fault of the wind or cold, not by cruel fate or a freak accident did the girl plummet to the ground located far below. There was no series of sickening cracks and pops, no sharp intake of breath, no dripping of blood, none of the sounds that so many have claimed to hear when someone falls to their death. It was just that she was there, laying spread eagle like a fallen angel rather than standing on the roof. It was almost like the events never occurred, in fact there was no evidence to the contrary, it was just that she was there, clearly dead. No known motivation, no known reason, there was nothing to explain the girl lying on the concrete floor in the morning glow. She was just there.