Caela cannot breathe. The air is a ray of sunlight -- terrible and beautiful, and untouchable.

Whispers go around that at the verge of death, all one can visualize is light. But all that passes Caela's sight is gray  -- a deathly, pale gray. Caela does not make an effort to make the darkness vanish or not to suffocate. She lets the sweet scent of death travel up her nose. 

"Mummy?" Caela isn't sure who has spoken, but she feels the barrier blocking the air from entering her lungs setting her free. Or rather, abandoning her to suffer. 

The room comes into eyesight. It is lit by candles as red as blood -- Caela wonders if they are made of blood itself -- and there are dolls everywhere, but the dolls are not pretty. Their skins are burnt off and some of them have bulging eyes -- others don't have eyes at all. None of them have ears, only bandages covering the spots where they should be. 

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The sight is eerie but that is not what worries Caela. Her mother gazes at her with feral eyes, pillow in hand. There is a pin drop silence as the two of them look at each other with wild expressions. 

Then Caela's mother slips a wretched sentence from her mouth and Caela is broken. She is destroyed. She is ruined. There will be no coming back. She explodes, not with rage, but with grief. A sadness covers her heart and a terror adopts her. When she looks up, all she can see is a blur. She grieves, but the wind rages. When everything is gone and lost, she is the wind's daughter. 

The lifeless body of her mother doesn't affect her, she forces herself to believe. But her heart is being stabbed over and over again and the air is, once again, hard to inhale. But she feels like she has never before. She is unaware. She is nothing. She is everything. She is blindness. She is light. She is power. She is the sky.

And this, reader, are the sorrows of the sky.