Imagine a little candle with a small, but bright, flame glowing on the wick of it.
Rasa sat on her bed. The burden of everything that she had held up for so long had come crashing down. She tried to look happy, but her eyes always gave it away. They would not change from purple.
Now imagine in set out in on a completely dark night. The moon is not visible. The stars are not visible. There aren't any streetlights or lanterns from the city or other houses because where this candle is placed is a tall, foggy, untouched-by-anyone mountain.
Her light was dying. The sun couldn't make her eyes any lighter and couldn't even reflect off of her eyes. Even if Amelie was there, it wouldn't matter. Nothing could save her now. She had made a promise to try her hardest to fight. To try to never let anything push her this far.
But the keyword was always try. Therefore Rasa was not breaking any promises.
Now...a gentle wind begins to blow.
She couldn't take it anymore. She went down to her basement and opened up a chest full of guns and pulled out her favorite one: a Radom Pistolet ViS, a Polish handgun that Amelie had given her.
The wind begins to blow harder. And harder. And harder. The little flame flickers violently, although fighting against being blown out is a futile attempt.
She loaded the gun, cocked it, and pressed it against the side of her head.
The flame is finally blown out.
Rasa's almost-lifeless body fell to the ground.
The wick glows for a few moments before the light finally dies.
Her breathing slowly stopped. She was dead.
The beautiful, sweet, polite Lithuanian girl was gone.