The small child strolled along the woods, studying the trees. Most trees were boring. But not here. Here the trees were most interesting indeed. The trees here were made from dead people.
She paused before a twisted sapling, its shape vaguely reminiscent of a woman crying out in pain, branches bent upwards as if to signify the once-living person grabbing their head in agony. If she squinted at it, the tree almost looked like a real person. Almost. But she knew it was really a trapped spirit, twisted in form and trapped here, never having found its way to the other side.
The girl considered the tree, tilting her head to the side, studying it with unblinking black eyes. Her porcelain features were pale like the snow that blanketed the ground, bathing the forest of the dead in white. Dripping icicles hung from the bark of the trees, making it seem like the souls trapped within were crying.
These trees were most interesting indeed.
She paused before a twisted sapling, its shape vaguely reminiscent of a woman crying out in pain, branches bent upwards as if to signify the once-living person grabbing their head in agony. If she squinted at it, the tree almost looked like a real person. Almost. But she knew it was really a trapped spirit, twisted in form and trapped here, never having found its way to the other side.
The girl considered the tree, tilting her head to the side, studying it with unblinking black eyes. Her porcelain features were pale like the snow that blanketed the ground, bathing the forest of the dead in white. Dripping icicles hung from the bark of the trees, making it seem like the souls trapped within were crying.
These trees were most interesting indeed.
