The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
A muttering wind shifted over the trees, the high trees, who lined the trodden walkways carved into the snow by a fleeting pack of deer. The branches, complicated and interlocking, cast shadows on the feeble paths, obscuring what little light was shed by the toothed moon overhead. The night was cold and blue. The snow piled high against the trees, wrapping up around their trunks as if to warm their naked, leaveless bodies. The sleeping City of Living Things had long since grown silent under the reign of stars.
Among trees and the snow and the stars, a girl sat on an upturned mess of roots. Her face was naked, maskless, bathed in icy light. Her eyes, blue and sightless, were fixed on the sky that she would never see. Thin, pale fingers reached up and touched her face, as though making sure it was still there. A silver wind blew and rustled her hair.
All was still.