"The night deepened, the fog thickened.
The courtyard was scattered with mist, layer upon layer, veiling everything.
There was no moonlight. Only the dim yellow streetlights illuminated the grounds of the Cheney Residence.
The interplay of light and shadow, branches crisscrossing, cast landscape after landscape on the ground.
In the bedroom, Yolanda Fern drowsily went to sleep.
Her head, dull with pain.
Her small hand tightly clutched the blanket, her forehead beaded with large drops of sweat.
"Yolanda, Yolanda, Grandpa's here to see you, do you miss Grandpa?"
"No, no…" Yolanda's eyes were tightly shut, she muttered and babbled, her sweat flowing freely.
"Yolanda, it's cold outside, would you let Grandpa come inside?"
A deep, aged voice floated through the air...
"Yolanda, it's cold and it hurts, Grandpa's heart is acting up again..."
"Yolanda, where's the medicine, the one you bought for me..."
"Yolanda, Yolanda... you haven't visited Grandpa in so long..."
