I was a little girl, I was a subject, blurred by the reality of growing up, my Quirk was slowly dissipating, the fragments of my past remained as cremains of my old self. Standing in the middle of the snow, thick coat wreathed around me, some thing clicked inside me, it was a distant memory, distorted but discernible, coruscating through my train of thoughts, my soul reached out for it as it might contain the truth of who I was.
It was dark, splintered by the gossamer threads of moonlight, I stood singularly in the brutal snow, it was cold, bone-biting, teeth-chattering, I knew nothing, I had no one to cling to but myself, I was too young to realise that, so I kept standing in the middle of nowhere, sunk in oblivion, not knowing what or how to react to this kind of jarring conditions.
Death did not seek me yet, nor did I attempt to recognise death in this thick layer of cold, frigid night. I was shivering, quivering, shaking, not even the clothes could keep me warm. I want to be warm. The singular innocent thought brought me to believe that it would happen, my faith was one-sided, uninterrupted, real.
The effulgence of sunlight blasted into me, I pried open my eyes that would crusted with frost, nothing seemed brighter than anything before. I was standing in the middle of a paddy field, it was a sea of golden brown, the source of food was standing at my neck length, I tip-toed to get more of the sunlight, to relish upon the believe that I had established in myself.
Shaken, my conscience was flung back into the dreaded reality where I presently was. I started to believe again, my Quirk of bringing me to places that I desired, just by a plain believe. I want to be warm. The simple, painless, straightforward thought put me into the middle of the same golden paddy field. A smile crawled up my cheeks, I slunk into a dance of reverie, relishing upon the re-awakening of my Quirk.