A little girl who looked about eight years old was sitting silently, alone in front of a very old, decaying tombstone. Tears formed in her raven black eyes, but she quickly blinked them back. A cresent moon illuminated her pale, expressionless face. Her long, flowing jet black hair landed just above her waist. Her small, midnight black angel wings ever so slightly fluttered back and forth, creating a small breeze, which moved her pink partially torn up, partially burned dress around.