Edenvell

Laying on the ground, taking the rotting planks as its own stolen mattress, a motionless doll dressed in a red robe, gifted by this odd concept that is life, exhales. Its wooden face, arms, legs, and hands are covered by damaged clothing named skin.A faint hum accompanies every exhale, a single sustained note. It goes against the wind's; it makes memories of the birds' chants scream, a twisted note that defies any laws evolution settled. A rebellion, we call it, a forced act against nature itself. A false promise of freedom, innovation they dared to name it. A music box.

Threads Of The White Lands