I lay in a fetal position at the hospital, miserably, as heavy tears rolled down my cheeks, blurring the

visions of my son's lifeless body. My heart wept uncontrollably, and my brain refused to conceive the
inconceivable while the gut-wrenching recollections of the winter flashed through my mind
unconsciously. Regret was all left, and regret symbolized the malevolent bag itself.

It was the dawn of winter when my son, Gally, was infected with a terrible dose of bronchitis. That same
winter, I purchased the most intriguing pouch for him, which caught my attention at the 'Yuyuan
marketplace. The surface of the bag was velvety and smooth, and it featured intricate knitting of ancient
Egyptian pictures, infusing a sense of antiquity into its design. Further, the pouch showcased a light
complexion of yellow and orange, with dark red hieroglyphic characters on it. It held an unknown place
in my heart, which was neither adoration nor enchantment, yet both Gally and I cherished it deeply.

On the night of 21st of December, I proceeded to place Gally on his crib when my attention drew towards
the newly purchased pouch on the far corner of the miserable room which has been enveloped with a
coat of extreme coldness. The pouch contained the fragrance depicting its newness yet the look of
antiquity still remained.