Absence: watchword of her endless list of words for negative concepts. Or a keyword, a spell, opening doors to music and light? A little life that shines. Ah! to be sure and then not. All these animal names becoming immaterial, this heap of things that she collected, when losing all courage. As a monument to disappearance. A memorial of abandon. A discharge of reason.

(Sylvie Roberts)

She mirrors, she sees the world. Its shape is born of fire, its evanescence of clouds. Tales of Night's childhood paint her inside like an ancient cave. Breasts turn into flowers, smiles become stars. She now plays as-if. No longer recognizing. She laughs at the new universe born in a barbarian feast before her eyes.

 She just created Spring.