Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. It had been an hour since the torrential downpour started. It was only a matter of time before she realized that she would not make it to her own wedding and so she closed her eyes and concentrated very hard. Blood began to trickle from her delicate nose, sullying her piercing white make-up. As so, crows' feet around her eyes displayed her delicate skin underneath. The rain started to lighten gradually and the street seemed to get brighter second by second, inch by inch. The rain started to feel light, weightless and bright. Its moist drops took on a different shape. Suddenly, a familiar scent filled the air and the water seemed to turn into gentle white lotus petals. She opened her eyes, smiled and slowly got up. She staggered down the street eventually catching herself as shopkeepers and peasants alike flooded the now floral street. The wedding was on.