I'm okay.
I'm not okay.
He was never okay. No one's forever and always okay. But he's never okay.
When the snow was pure white, still in the process of falling down softly onto the ground, was long ago, like a fairy tail that never happened.
When there was no roads, no people to stain the snow, was too long ago, like a fold tail that your mother would tell you for a bedtime story.
They're too late to help him.
He's too far gone, his paper heart crushed and burnt, damaged and ripped.
The snow is stained.
The twig has snapped.
The mask is broken.
And his paper heart will never be whole again.