The prism of light emanating from the oft intermittent sky caressed the melting patch of snow. Enigma stood aside a desolate road with her eyes glued to the glistening pattern. The shifting arctic winds went unnoticed. Nothing was recognized except the repetition of her echoic memory reliving Amnesia from Dead Can Dance. A breadth of distant memories sat snug in her journal that she tucked securely against her body with her left arm. Enigma began to envision the previous summer and all of its contents. Their faces were revolting blurs smeared with subtle ugliness. The sand was wrought with derealization coupled with melancholia. Persistence of the sun dangled around like little nightmares escaping the manifest content. Between the intervals of a deep and fantastical longing for something more, her mind observes the coitus interruptus and the setbacks of her significant other. Enigma grew tired of believing. Lumping of decades reveal nothing more than feeble hopes and unrealized dreams. Her soul was too complex. Enigma exists in conscious processes that surpass everyone around her as she observes eidetic images fluently. Enigma considers falling into a fugue; becoming a grandiose fabulist so that she discovers earth by telling the past of psychogenic amnesia.