Every thirty days, the girl intakes new air, new breath, the soft beacon of a new start. Where she lay, the first betwixt the last phase, beneath the darkening cloak of night, devoid of the moon's breath of light.

Her eyes were dark as nature's depths, six feet under her soil, she kept. Deep, deep, her heart ached and cracked. A splinter, a needle, a thread, and a pact.

Glass shimmering, new and bold, the night was foretold in the deepest blue, nearly vacant of the moon. For it lacked its radiant shine, delving the girl deeper and deeper. A struggle with her conscience, feet thrumming, thumping against the brittle leaves of autumn's crisp breeze. She ran and ran, hair trailing behind with her glistening tears of the past and truths. Toward the bristling sea, a current roaring for relief.

She craved a new beginning, where her soul bore the sensation of joy and passion. Her heart was to be licked clean of the cracks, paths of pain, sorrow, and the anguish that threatened to consume her. Needle readied, its woven thread plunged and yanked at the tattered, broken seams, mending and bending her heart of glass.

She was careful, her fingers nimble and lithe with an insatiable desperation for perfection. Bearing her heart anew and pulled taut.

Transcendence held promises of renewal as the yearning tide flowed on and on, ferocity in its bellowing waves.

Her time was nigh, the radiance of the crescent moon's waxing glow luring her forth into the tickling foam of the sea.