A little girl, standing. She was left behind. There was no one left to hear her cries. A silence that pounded against her head like a hammer, she winced under each unforgiving blow. With each minute that passed, she grew smaller. She became defeated, destroyed. She had nowhere to run to. Nowhere to hide. There was no one to cry to, no one to stay by her side. She was alone. Abandoned. Deserted in the desert of uncertainty laid before her. Like silk ribbons cast aside after a night of dancing. Forgotten in the whirl of the excitement. The folds and curls once so perfect upon the lace of a gown, laying beautifully upon the ground, collecting dust and no longer seen. Later causing emotions of uncertainty, in the heart of the pretty young maiden who was washed away by the crowds.
This little girl, she is the ribbon. The world is her maiden. The death swirling around her, washed away by the clouds. The streams dancing an eternal dance, giving her peace within her dreams. A ribbon beginning to fray, can it be repaired? A world that has long since bleed gray, finding the colors left within? Things that may ultimately heal her sins…