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The world was quiet. Like the levy of the night had yet to sit in, but it was too afraid to come. The day repudiated to shine, but the clouds were too timid to come out. The entire world wanted the quiet. She gazed from her chair, her veracious chair, and she watched the time slow down until the pendulum on her old wooden clock slowed and immobilized as if it were frozen. Not an unfamiliar feeling of the world slowing to accompany her, but a long forgotten one. Normally it was she whom the world would push down, but now, the world just took a break from the foul play and ill-gotten torture of the apathetic. Her eyes closed and her world of peace, the land of lullabies and clouds embraced her, far away, a place where the music was from the gentle fairies and the moonlight shone will a brilliant hue and made all the colors dance in it's affectionate night. The streams flowed in a slow, gentle, tranquil sort of motion. She could explore the gentle earth with her bare feet, and feel at home. She could smile without the world wondering why. She could cry and never be alone. Yet in a place so peaceful, the tears were never needed. Her skin was healthy in the moonlight, not of the abysmal purple (the color one often relates to death) but of a peach, a gentle soft peach. Healthy and not touched. Clean. No paint, no masks, just the moonlight on her healthy skin. The ground would cradle her feet and make it easy to scrutinize the world of enchantment without watching her step. Her wings were real, not fake, not made of paper, but her own. Her halo was her own, her gown was her own. No one else’s. The distant voices of the fairies were soft and mellow singing songs of serenity. She could close her eyes, her unpainted eyes and enjoy the gentle noises. Her sanctuary. But upon opening them, her face was painted. The voracious pendulum ticked and the gentle voices serenading were gone. Her skin was scarred and alienated. She was a flawed being of this world. With paper wings, and no halo. She sat back in her chair, her veracious chair unfit for one as herself. She was lost in this world.