Her skin is bare but she doesn't feel like a newborn.
Her hair, even without the seamless brushing of the wind, resonates above her shoulders. Strand by strand, they sway. She tries to reach for something but she cannot barely even see. Instead, she slithers, like a fanciful reverie in the bluest skies.
Her feet are bare and are decorated with earthly glitters that shine even behind her shadows. Ghastly in a way, mesmerizing in a way.
She was smitten.
She has forgotten.
She sleeps...
