Dante

i pass through the empty street, my hand brushing away the cloth hanging in the doorframe as i enter a house. i approach a small bed, kneeling down beside the sick girl inside it. i place my hand over your head gently, feeling the warmth of your skin, the burning of your fever. You poor thing.... i say, pitting you, but not really caring at the same time. i move my hand to your hair, stroking it You'll die soon without remedy...