A small child, a girl. Her hair barely brushes her shoulders, and her fragile body seems as though it might shatter at a touch. So small, so seemingly innocent — yet she stares at the wall with an icy gaze. Her eyes are hollow, devoid of life, mirroring those of a corpse. She is so young, yet she has spent her entire existence, from the beginning until now, trapped in this pit. I meet her eyes, and they remind me of my own: extinguished sparks, lifeless embers. But there is a difference — her eyes have always been this way. She has never known what it feels like to burn with vitality. She does not even know what sparks are.