"Absorbed in past memories, nothing could confirm that harsh revelation." For a moment, Cercira believed she did not hear it, only dreamed-an absurd, distant dream that she would soon wake up to.
And his life passed like a fleeting flash and vanished like a cold winter haze in translucent vapors and a tasteless taste. The world, an impossible place to the soul.
He was sure that a thick, icy clay like flesh could not sustain something subtle and delicate like the soul, life a barren mirage.
In a short time she had become a wanderer of all that she believed to be true and lawful, now lost in shadows so extensive that they covered her whole existence.
He felt like a grain in the perpetual gale of life, a useless little game of willpower. "
(The Lengend Of Arquitaurus - Carlos França)