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Ten Sixths, april 12 2007 | Euforilla
The first time I saw her, I mistook her for a little girl, she was lying in the shadow of a weeping willow, her bare feet on the trunk. I keep this frame sake in my mind since then, but I think I've crystallized it through time: the light that filtered through the branches sparkled on the crystals of her dress, her hands were busy braiding ribbons and daisies in her hair or playing with the pearl strands and cammeos that dangled from her neck. Fluttering butterflies and tinkerbells jingling were all that was needed to make me believe I died. I got closer slowly, but making noise, I didn't want to scare her. "Hello little girl!" I said, finally realising that she wasn't a little girl "I'd like to take a picture of you... an instant portrait" To this day I've been asking myself what made me say such a creepy line, but she "Are you willing to steal my soul?" answered, seriously. I would have been so happy to steal her soul, steal those timeless dark eyes, keep them for myself, but I