The wind stops. My feet crunch obscenely in the new silence. This is where visions are born, into flashes of gold and red and blue, into tranquility. Red brick dark with ice hangs over sinople and white; a study in what it means to be in love, or free, or forever. Seventy kinds of colors slip through my eyelids and I forget to spit. There’s nothing but light, like music in a cathedral, until something falls into my open mouth and it comes to my attention that I’m still bleeding. There’s blood dripping down my lip, just hanging on the edge of my chin, threatening – looming – towards the beautiful ground. If it falls, it will take me with it. I will topple face-first into the pristine crystal of eternity with nothing but love and blood on my tongue. I would be worried about defiling this place, but there is nothing about it that can be desecrated. My profane mortality will linger only very briefly before the ice that coats the walls creeps over me, too, and brings me into divinity as perfect as snow.