Everything is covered in white, snowflakes lingering down from the sky. Yet the innocence is broken by the crimson, slowly spreading further and further like poison. It's dripping down from the black sword, the cause of this broken balance. It turns the love from the curled up body into poison, letting it flow out from the deep wound. But even if the flame in the body is dying out, the crimson doesn't turn into hatred even once. It's still loving, letting the sword slowly shape it into anything it likes.
