God's merciless hands of fate conjured up one of those divine winds that blew a little too cruel and cold on a frozen evening in mid-January.
The cradle must have rocked just a little too forcefully and more abrupt than a winter sunset, a fragile seraph made her descent from the highest branches of the Treetop above.
A testament to the beautiful brevity of life; she remained blissfully unaware of the world's cold corruption and conscious only to the rhythmic resonance her father's heavy heart.
Blanketed in the warm adoration of an already-grieving family, her tiny soul ascended again within the hour;
perhaps heeding some silent call from arms, leaving her mother's empty; but ready if another celestial gift equally as precious should fall from above.