Looking back at the memories of looking inside those somber eyes, the pain flickers a flame. We can’t help it, we just don’t feel the same. You can bury it, or you can hide it, but underneath it all, it has made its impact. We’re standing here in the same section, with the same girl. Turn around to meet her gaze, and back into that rabbit hole we climb. You have to face this painting in order to move to another section. This is, after all, a reflection of life’s reality. You can’t move forward unless you can let go of where you’ve been. Understand it enough to let it go that is… We’ve all felt alone, she’s clearly thought she felt more alone than the rest of us could imagine. Whether that’s true or not, is really irrelevant.
Let’s take a deep breath now. Open your eyes to this place, take in a scene. We’re under a mimosa tree, sitting here looking up through the trees at the light of the sunshine flickering we can see the movement of the winds through the branches. ‘A moment of relaxation?’ the thought of a young woman speaks out to our reality. It’s a dominant woman’s voice. She has told orders in her lifetime.
Let’s back out and watch from the outside, shall we?
A girl about her mid 20’s we could guess, sitting under the mimosa tree, ever so beautifully sitting upon a hill overlooking a vast valley of villages, trees, hills, meadows, plantations… Her hair is the color of the ocean, it’s blue. It’s beautiful, it’s a darker reflection of the skies above us. Her eyes are open and gazing up through the branches, we can make out scars across her beautiful face, one eye is without life…you can see that she is blind in that eye, it’s her right eye. The scar on her face, we can only imagine came from a blade. Starting at the top of her right eyebrow, across her nose and onto her left cheek it stops. Upon the same eye, a straight down scar from the same spot on her eyebrow, right down her cheek.
You can’t help but wonder how her eye is even still there? Such a nasty scar. Her throat appears to have been strangled by barbwire at some point… as our assessment goes down her body, you realize she’s wearing boxing bandages as a shirt. Tightly wrapped, as a warrior might be. It stops above her belly button and she is wearing red pants. This is where we notice the anomaly against our reality. Her feet…they’re not human. They’re that of a fox.
Suddenly her gaze snaps over into our direction, and she addresses us directly.
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