*The room is empty. A dark viscous goop is splattered all over the walls and floors of the room. It's cold to the touch, and yet also burns, but it no longer seems to be moving. Even though Valentine's was only a few days ago, the room looks as though it hasn't been used in years, with shattered windows and broken tiles, and a thick layer of dust covers every inch of the vicinity.* *even though it is empty, however, you can still hear a song whispered on the wind* [i]Every day, I imagine a future where I can be with you! In my hand, is a pen that will write a poem of me and you! The ink flows down into a dark puddle, Just move your hand, write the way into their heart. And in this world of infinite choices, What will it take just to find that special day? What will it take, just to find... That special day? Have I found, everybody a fun assignment to do today? When you're here, everything that we do is fun for them anyway. When I can't even read my own feelings, What good are words when a smile says it all? And if this world won't write me an ending... What will it take just for me to have it all? Does my pen, only write bitter words for those who are dear to me? Is it love, if I take you or is it love if I set you free? The ink flows down into a dark puddle. How can I write love into reality? And if I can't hear the sound of your heartbeat, What do you call love in your reality? And in your reality, if I don't know how to love you... I'll leave you be.[/i] *you find a lone discarded valentine on the floor, its edges singed from fire, its words warped by magic. You cannot read it, nor can you hear it. It crumbles away to dust at your touch*