The mists of oppression dissolve. A new dawn shines upon a ravaged land. The fog is gone, yet still there. Reality returns shoving the nightmares aside. Shallow smiles light up faces, the tragedies are discarded, forgotten. For men choose to believe in reality and not dream.
The battle has taken its toll. The fallen shall not rise, they fade from memory. Within wreckage a little orphan girl is found. Her bare feet bleed. She wears but colorless rags. Only her snow-white hairs remain untouched by the foulness of reality.
They take her to a hospital. There on the verge of death the tentacles of bureaucracy toss her around. Some grant her a glance before moving on with their lives. Others pity her, shrugging their shoulders in a helpless expression of laziness, the rest just hurry past, yet she holds on.
Life goes on. In the end they treat her, a feeble attempt to soothe a guilty consciousness. It is too late. Her body is dead, yet she survives. The curious run their tests and when satisfied, lock her away, her demise foretold, yet she lives.
For mere mortals cannot comprehend the power of a god. She feels no pain, only sadness. Her freedom is not gone. There are no bounds for her dream. Her motionless hand slips from sheets, falling to the ground.
Yet not all have forgotten. A little boy catches her hand. He is scared. She grants his wish for power. A contract is forged, a soul is given. A guardian rises…