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报告翻译问题
奖励
FULLY MODELLED SNOW
you are right to say that snow can be death. it is a stark and silent hunter, its cold an unforgiving blade that seeps into the bones. it is the chilling white shroud that can blanket the world, muffling life itself into a desperate, frozen stillness. from the warmth of a window, we can call it beautiful, but to be lost in its embrace is to only know a profound and terrifying loneliness
… can something so deadly not also be breathtaking?
consider the gentle hush that falls with the first few flakes, a sacred silence that stills the frantic pulse of any world. each snowflake, a fleeting masterpiece, lands with gentle finality, a dream, a fragile pearl destined to be lost. they are fluttering dreams of purity, whispering down to offer the world a momentary absolution.
a fleeting moment, a momentary snowflake.
It is the pristine page upon which our memories are written, the solitary walk under a sky of bruised violet, the window pane where a name was once traced in the frost.
It buries the world we know, not to freeze us, to instead blanket us, to allow us to see it anew. It endures the filth and the mud, and in its melting, it does not die, but transforms, feeding the very earth it once concealed.
it is a solemn remorse, a constant reminder of something forever vivid,
some will recoil from it, mistaking its chill for cruelty, yet in shunning snow’s embrace, we turn from our own reflection
the snow is harsh, absolutely yes. It is a desolate, definite and chilling force that isolates and surrounds you.
but, it is also the testament to a fragile beauty that exists in the very heart of such desolation.
within its frozen heart lies a fragile, fleeting beauty, a solemn hymn sung in whispers of white
it is the sharp, cold gasp before the morning rise, the mirror of all that it blankets. snow is not merely death.
one day, your own scarlet pulse will rest beneath soil cradled by snow’s fleeting dream,
so gently covered by a dream that reflects your eternity, icy rivers and cold breath, frozen bodies and forgotten losses, snow is not merely loss; even in its bitter frost, there blooms a quiet. your own, reflected, forever alive in its pale embrace.
snow is beautiful.
Only in a beautiful shelter is the snow, "Beautiful"
Forced to live in harsh climates like the north and south poles? "Hate it."
Forced tribal living in cold weathers? Hate snow.