Adam could feel her delicate skin deteriorating under his wind-abused hands. It had turned an ashen gray color, similar to that of the statuesque gargoyles that haunted the mountain's tortured peak. Its texture was that of sand, the same coarse particles that were only beginning to transform his skin. By sitting with her condemned body, he was only hastening his own damnation. The body in his arms shuddered, its shoulders hollowing in as smoky breaths were exhaled from her cracking lips. She had but barely moments left, not nearly enough time for his battle worn body to drag her back down to the valley where they had been created, to the spring whose water could save the world. And so Eve died, her frail body shattered and turned to dust in Adam's hands. The wind, spiraling down, scattered the rest of her remains among the dust storm that tormented creation. He was alone. The darkness of the storm shadowed and blurred the corners of his vision, the ghosts around him mere silhouettes from his memories. They would all eventually shatter, the last remains of his family, the sand tearing at their skin till they burst from the inside out. The devil was too far immersed in their hearts, his snake-like ideals having slithered till they manifested themselves permanently in the recesses of their mind. This wasn't just a mass murder; this was their salvation.