one thing was certain, she was dead. she stood there by the lake and she was perfect in every way; from the white dress to the curled red hair, she was bride-like. it was the sadness that killed her.her body heat was dispersed into the water and her lips became blue, blue like the ink , ink which she used to write about sadness. the girl was frozen right through but looked like she might awake any moment and burst into terrible and sad reality that, to be honest, never brought anything good. she was sitting there among the reeds at the water’s edge and she was not even able to remember when or how she died. you know, there is more than one type of death. she died some time ago. she didn’t mean to. her heart was still beating, though only as a cold pump, working despite her spark of life being extinguished. her world was frozen like everything in Siberia. and everything was pixilated, unreal, distant. she never feared death. she knew that eventually will end her life between four white walls and medication. she was afraid only of one thing, that she will not live to see the next snow … but the snow was all white like the walls of the hospital room .. everything was white … white, she was so familiar with this color. the pain from her soul that once burned like fire had faded away to an icy numbness and she stood there motionless, perfect, perfect in every way.