She is just as all other characters to our tale of tragedy. Nothingness has become a common idea for this tale. And yet, does beauty have a place within tragedy? Or is it that when one ploughs through tragedy to find some comfort, that we become ever more beautiful? Beauty is the idea by which a human will fight to protect that which is precious to them. In such protection, and never negligence, as our characters are wonted to do, there is nothing but the illusion that a human will live forever.
Will a scientist or inventor create immortality in the human? If such should occur, then love will be forever forsaken. Love is the only thing one has for fulfillment, and a mortal life is only a protected life, not a life of godhood. God has no fulfillment, save for the endless depression originated from no fulfillment. For he had given up a life, his son, for that reason, and that is to show the importance of sacrifice.
Death is nothing for fear’s sake, though for the sight of rest, it is something to find as the only thing that should be endless.
Love is, the motivation by which we protect, so that our lives are lost in place of our beloved’s life. When they die, we choose ourselves to blame. We blame God, as well, due to how we inevitably know, whether knowledgeable or not, that love had been the failing strength in what we could not do. Such blame either turns to us, or the maker of love.
Do we blame responsibility, or do we blame those who created us?
It is inevitable that there are two sides to blame both.
For when Antoine looks upon his grandmother’s face and notices the wrinkles that are many, and the happiness that she lacks, he is at least content to know what he recognizes.
Acceptance is the feeling by which we either may embrace the evil or the light that surrounds us; and we embrace it, though may not know which is buried, has been exhumed like a coffin from its shell of soil.