Said, in the times of grey Dried Lands, lived a maiden sheer as porcelain. Her essence stood hauntingly familiar to the substance of the pure material as if she’d appear sturdy and tough yet she was the most fragile among her kind.
A rough word could crack her smile and a single act of misuse committed once could shatter her into rattling pieces. If only that happened, she then was repaired and taped together with golden paste multiple times until her crack-veins have spread across her skin as spider-hooks.
By the ends of her time, she had to move as careful and tender as the wings of the butterfly among the thorns of roses.
The ground she walked on represented her entire being with the broken gaps of the dried and chapped surface. Each moment her feet touched the ground, dust swirled around only to turn the quicksand into nothing.
With the passing days, the soil has disappeared wherever she walked only for her to sit down on a piece of rock and weep, bearing witness above her destruction. There she halted watching her tears tumbling down on her cheeks.
As The Widow looked up her breath stopped to see that all where she walked turned into hollow darkness. Only the piece of stone that she sat on have defended her against the consuming shadow.
Floating among silence and unceasing naught she wailed and cried louder. Within the Void there lived nothing that could answer her screams thus she sobbed until her voice morphed into quieting whimpers.
Her face covered, her soul sealed away without hope she carefully peeked out through her pale fingers. The sight that has welcomed her sealed away her words forever and fitted her splintered heart with joy.
Her tears of sorrow turned the darkening nothing into a blossoming land of forests, meadows, blooming trees, and glittering creeks.
The cracks of the Dried Lands were forever filled as her crystal clear tears of anguish roamed around the new land giving life and spirit of all things yet to live.