It is very desolate here. The trees are bare and dead, the sky is always gray. And the wind moans like a tortured child. There are clouds on the horizon but somehow you get the impression that no rain will comfort this place.

This is the Forest of Sorrow.

See over there? Where that half-faded path through the woods is. That is the way to the Twilight Sea. But here, near the shore, is a sort of bower made of dead leaves (old and withered, mostly) and branches, draped in faded gray rags. Inside this "cradle" lies a body. The body is of a small child with reddish bond hair, whose skin is normally pale but the light here casts into a grayish shade. Her eyes are closed, and it takes a great deal of concentration to notice the faint movements of her chest and realize she is still breatheing. Her breathes are shallow, and sometimes steam out a bit in the chill air here. Nearby lays the Twilight Sea, though here there are none of the spectacluar sunsets and lurid dawns that always grace the rest of it. Here are only the cold and dreary thoughtless afternoons that make one wonder what the point of it all is, where the sea nips at your heels like a small dog and you wonder if perhaps you'd rather just walk out into that chill spray. . . She is both connected and not connected to the fields of bodies that lay both here and *not here*.