The night, as always, was quiet.

The bright moonlight sprinkled down like a mist, through the carved window, hazily drifting in, shining on the young girl's fair little face on the bed, cold and lonely.

The young girl was beautiful, as beautiful as an orchid in an empty valley.

Her eyes were closed, her brows knitted lightly, her small hands gripping the corners of the quilt tightly, and her white, polished forehead was now covered in cold sweat.

Suddenly, the ...