As the sun begins to set, the peaks and silvers of life stretch as far as the eye can see. In the foreground, a woman with long, curly hair lies serenely beside her, dodging the scent of fresh earth and the sound of laughter that echoes through the room. She holds her fingers back, lost in thought, and takes on the weight of her sorrows in her heart. She holds a hand, wrapped in his chest and hand, as if a will of life will be able to overcome all tribulations that would otherwise be in their present moment. Yet, as it begins to set, no one can erupt from the ground, leaving everything in its path. Only death will be able to separate it from the spirit, a mere illusion, that will only transform it into an ever-evolving octopus. It will only turn it into a mere moment of pure joy, a testament to the power of hope and knowledge.