What once was is no more — the permanence of things is but an illusion. The butterflies, through the brevity of their lives, whisper to us of transience. Where are we bound? Only silence gives reply. I hold on to nothing. I erase nothing. One day shall come when we shall take flight for all eternity. And yet — where is eternity? Where does she hide herself? Ah, there you are. Long have I struggled against time to find you once more. Come closer. Let me tell you of the ephemeral — I know it will leave you spellbound.