Centuries ago, in a very different world, the people worked day to day tirelessly without rest. Knowing no other way to live under the endless blue sky. A dark haired woman with little to say watched these people from afar, as whispered rumours of her demeanor failed to gain her attention.
She devoted all her time to her whimsical child, who preferred to live in the bliss of their own imagination, away from harsh realities of daily life. She tended to her flowers in colours of warm blues and cold reds. Young yellows and dying browns, and withering whites that failed to give up hope. They lay disorganised amomgst the dark weeds and grass that are left growing wild.
When she grew tired from these tasks, she lay in her living room and closed her eyes for hours on end; concerning her neighbours and jerking her child back into reality, who all thought she were dead. That is until she opened her eyes, completely refreshed, and continued with her day.
She explained to her child one day, after they mourned a non-existent death, the things she saw when she closed her eyes. "A world of beauty, of things we cannot possibly recreate in reality, of things that can only be imagined." A sentiment that her child understood on a level no one else did.
One day, the village was raided by an opposing settlement. And though most people came out unscathed, some were unlucky. They were found shortly after the attack ended, the woman's arms around her child. The blue of the river tainted with their blood as they lay motionless. And the people knew they would never open their eyes again.
Hours later, the endless blue sky was tainted with a blood red. And the people of the village watched in awe as woman's face came into view, her dark hair fanning out over the sky, with her pointed flowers in her hair. She watched them from afar with little to say.
Realising they could not work when it was so dark, the people lay down and rested, never before having realised how exhausted they were from their constant toil. They closed their eyes, and drifted into the bliss of their own imagination. And if that bliss were to be harmed in any way, a whimsical child would be there to fend off the negativity, the horrors that were strictly reserved for the harsh realities of daily life.
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