"And what makes you think they don't?" I stressed, frowning slightly as I pulled the fake fur adorning the ends of my jacket tighter around me and tried to cross my arms across my chest clumsily. My hands were a pale white with a pinch of red on the knuckles; an evident sign of the cold I had to endure yet I didn't know whether it was the weather or my blood that felt drawn with anxiety "What makes you think that the story is to be finished? Some things are better left alone and you taught me that well years ago. It is of no use to dig into past over and over again as if we can resurrect something that's long dead."