dimly lit corridor, a figure stood—humanoid in form, ethereal in presence. Pale-skinned and serene, she bore long, wavy pink hair that cascaded like ribbons of rose quartz. Her light pink eyes shimmered with unreal constellations. Blanche sat silently, watching them with a low voice— “Can you play the piano because it was only the desperation of mental images, mainly those touching modern times and his twisted smile was quite sober, a little too