Be lost in the beauty of the painting above. Huge and beyond reach, it houses mist-like ships, a glowing cheese that can make a hungry stomach growl, and sparkling diamonds far older than even the first of men to ever crawl on this earth. This wonderful canvas leaves the greenish-blue eyes of a meek-looking damsel enthralled. Who or what must she give warmest thank for making such grand darkness this beautiful?

  Being within thick cold walls and cages for days on end, even months, with only a pale ray of light or a lit wick or torch as a silent guide or companion, at times, she forgets that not every sea of shadows bodes ill for her. The ones she had swum into merely had vile hunters on the prowl who pursued her and dragged her into their dreaded depths. Even in daylight, where she was jailed felt like an eternal night. The moments were grim and grimy with her serving to suffer. Who was giving her suffering was savoring her every little squirm and squeak. Her fragility and futility to fight off her cruel fate were explored with monstrous pride and passion.

  But tonight is a moment of peace, comfort, and appreciation, not of unrest, horror, and animosity. This dark place is far better than the ones fashioned behind brick and steel with a distant flame as the loathsome moon. The sweet fortune of a good breeze drops by, caressing her lovely mildly-shuddering flesh with hints of scars and bruises quite tucked away in her tattered clothes that can be torn apart with enough strength pulling on them. Long red hair in a mess flails weakly from the same visitation. She also drinks in this brisk stream to cool her lungs that had ached plenty of times from tears shed and labored breaths of pain and terror.

  Beauty in rags all alone on the edge of the woods is contented by her solitude beneath the starry skies. Form a faint smile on those pink lips. Perhaps, she can find a bit of food even if just berries before she bids this night farewell. Start a new day when her eyes reopen after a long rest. However, to her misfortune, to her blindness of the wonderful canvas above, there is a gazer from behind. More than one, even. Their gathered fondness is not offered to the great portrait of above, no. It is wickedly devoted towards the stargazing doll. The strong rope and thick strips of cloth in hand bode ill for her if they succeed with going about their devilish plan which the lone maiden is the required guest of honor. Will her eternal night of horrors resume or will she soon gain the vigilance and wit to lose the trail of her would-be hunters?

  Be lost and enthralled by the beauty above, raggedy doll. Its lovely darkness is one that she would much prefer to gaze upon.