The subtle strains of "Veni, Veni, Immanuel" sung by a gregorian choir.
A field coated in snow with the trees making a dark border against the night.
The stars above glittering fiercely as dark figures assemble on the snowy ground.
A figure in the middle drops three drops of ruby blood on the snow. As it gently stains the white, he twists a large ruby so it catches the moon light just so.
A brilliant flash fills the glade, the dark trees prove to be white birches and the people are pale pale pale in the hard white light. Figures fall to the ground as they are bathed in light. Some rise and flee, dark crows in the night. Others twist and turn as if in torture. Some rise again, slowly, wonderingly. And some don't get up at all.
In the trees, a girl watches, transfixed. Piano music begins. The one she knows now slowly rises, agony on his face. Tears fall from her own eyes as the dark figures move with haunting rythym, falling, running, turning, standing, more fall. Many do not rise. The light pulses with its own strange beat as the piano chords and soprano notes fill the scene.
She cannot take the watching and not knowing, the seeing without believing. She turns. And runs.
The music hightens as she pounds throught the snowy trees, a pulsing light at her back.
And it fades as she slows. And falls. And the scene goes dark.