A stone. Quiet and still lays on the masked ground filled with remains of dried leafs and flowers. The stone is big and gray and it lives in the shadows quietly. No one around. Usually that meant no one to hear, so, as millions of other times before, Belle sat at the border of the current river and thought of the birds, the swinging trees, the noisy crickets playing their so usual song and the flowers following each other in rainbows and rainbows to come.
"My daddy used to tell me not to fall asleep once you're young. 'When you do,' he used to remind 'you can find yourself in either a pretty and wonderful dream or be caught in a dark and dreadful one.'" Her voice whispering to the animals "Now focus Belle, you have spent most of the last few months trying to figure out in which you're included in. Dreams are like fairies, they come when you least expect and when you’re in most need of affection. You see them as a tragic appearance of reality and then they vanish in a single wing-beat leaving nothing but dust behind. However and most importantly: They. Don’t. Exist." as she spoke these words the breaking sound of a cracked branch made her look back and ask ‘What are you doing here?’
