A bleak light is being casted unto a grey and howelling wall. It's a belief, a naive and desperate belief that is merely half a belief, an echoey scream emmanating from the depths of eternity, that mankind is worth loving. But is it ? The light is lit. It's dim, it has gotten dimmer and dimmer with time, it's translucide but it's still not consumed. It won't stay for too long, It's name is Celeste, swelling and quiet, and it's catching cold.