In the silent, frozen expanse where time itself seems suspended, a voice, sharp yet wavering, pierces the void. It is not a voice meant for others—no ear to hear, no heart to understand—but a confession to the chilling wind, a conversation with the shifting shadows of winter.

"It is abrupt, even absurd, perhaps, to turn this question inward, as if seeking answers from the most unreliable of narrators—myself. But listen closely, for this question gnaws at the edge of my sanity.

What is noble, and what is evil?

For centuries, scholars, philosophers, and common souls alike have tried to stitch together definitions from the fabric of their experiences. They say noble embodies kindness, generosity, compassion—a luminous thread in the dimness of our world. And evil? Evil is cruelty, malice, malevolence, a shadow so deep it devours the very light that dares define it.

Yes, this is what most would claim, and I, too, might nod, appeasing the comfort of convention. But here, in this void, these words twist into hollow echoes. They taste of ink and old speeches, aged beyond truth.

So let me ask again.

What is good, and what is bad?

And no—do not deceive yourself by thinking these are just twins of noble and evil, clad in different robes. No, they are not the same. Think… think… think… deeper.

Good—good is the heartbeat that persists, the breath that draws life even in defiance of despair. It is continuity, the thread that binds moments into a tapestry that endures. Good is survival, a whispered promise against the chaos.

Bad? Bad is the severing of that thread, the jagged line that marks an ending—irreversible, abrupt. It is the silence after the song, the final shudder of a candle extinguished by an unseen hand. Bad is the cessation of movement, the unwelcome halt.

I know not whether my musings hold any truth beyond this cold night. I have pieced them together from the fragments of what I have seen, what I have lived, what I have lost. Perhaps, it is no answer at all—merely a reflection in cracked ice. But if these words, spoken to a sky that holds no mercy, carry meaning, then they are the closest to truth that I possess.

Good is what lets us continue. Bad is what makes us end.

A simple, foolish answer perhaps. But for now, it is all I have. And the wind carries my soliloquy away, scattering it like whispers, like snowflakes, into the dark embrace of winter."