The Ostrich and the Egret
Had a very fine flat to let.
Figurine hutch, no the place wasn't much, but they
Got a Peacock.

He would say what he's gonna do.
He would say what he wanted to.
Ostrich and Egret were filled with regret, but the
Rent's well worth him.

He felt things that they'd never felt.
Like the slap of a feather belt.
So still they sit by a fireplace silent.
A chill ran through them.

Ostrich and Egret and Peacock had very small dreams.
Thinking of them just reminds me of calendar scenes.
Nobody's laughing when everyone's weeping, it seems.

So that's How We Quit the Forest.
The scene wasn't what it used to be.
The scene is never what it used to be.
So, that's How We Quit the Forest.

----Rasputina, "How We Quit the Forest"

It had seemed like Melora had been trudging through the forest for days. Thankfully the last of her food had not run out, but she was weary and her feet hurt badly.Traveling on foot was harder than she'd thought; her suitcases contained only food and clothing, but now they seemed to weigh a ton on each arm. The forest was immense, she could no longer place where she was, and roots constantly tried to make her lose her footing. Though she knew it must have been more than twenty four hours since she entered the forest, night had never come. In that quiet cathedral of nature, the shadows remained long, the sun refusing to rise to it's zenith or to set fully, whichever it was, dawn or dusk, she could not tell. She tried to remember what the day had looked like when she first set foot in this forest, desperate to escape her problems, but it seemed so long ago that she could not place any details.It doesn't matter though, thought Melora, as long as it's away, I don't care what direction I'm headed towards. Nothing could have proved more fatal to my well being than staying in that place.

Here was a lot different than where she started out. When she had fled her old life, the woods of her home were red and gold, at the onset of Autumn. As she walked, the forest seemed to get darker and darker, the trees ashen and grey, their branches steadily growing barer and barer. Dead leaves crunched under her feet, and a bluish-white mist covered the ground. The woods were silent, devoid of bird song or the scampering of animals. Melora's white hair and white dress soaked up the dim light and reflected it strongly, causing her to practically glow in the darkness. She walked as if in a trance, her body too tired to do anything but plod on, but her fear of never finding the end of the woods urged her onwards, as did the cold. At times the heavy silence weighed on her heart, here she was truly alone, the sole inhabitant of those woods. At other times, even though she could not hear anyone or see anything moving, she often swore that she could feel a presence with her. She had slept, briefly, her back against a thin tree, her legs splayed before her and her head turned to the side. The sleep was light, in the half-darkness, and it was then that she could hear an almost subliminal music, haunting the woods with the quiet sound of thunder. She did not sleep often though; for every time she did she felt as if the ground was telling her to simply sink down into the cold earth, to never get up again. And every time she woke up, Melora's restless spirit felt the uneasiness of time wasted in dangerous places.

Finally, Melora came to a clearing in the forest. Before her were gray skies, and what looked to be a blackened, dismal little village. It didn't even warrant the name of a town, so small it was, and so antiquated. It only had one road, and she walked through it, peering in dark windows only to see dusty rooms that contained no furniture. The whole town was silent, abandoned, and falling to ruin.

Where am I? Wondered Melora. This looked like nothing she was used to back at home; how far had she walked?

She was so tired, every nerve in her body screaming to stop, to lie down for just a few hours, perhaps stay the night in one of the abandoned houses. Melora paused, seriously considering it, but, looking at the woods behind her, decided that the place felt very strange and it would not be wise to stop. She was charged with a mysterious drive to keep moving, as if she were a restless spirit looking for a body to haunt. Nothing felt real to her any more, time seemed to stand still even as she traversed miles of uninhabited country side. Eventually her food ran out, but she was always able to find more----she came across abandoned orchards and filled her bags with apples and pears, stuffing her pockets with peaches. As Melora walked down the dirt road that meandered aimlessly through unfamiliar ashen land, she sometimes came across fields with crops to eat there, though she saw no farms.
At the beginning of her journey, Melora often had a solid stream of consciousness running through her mind, she had been full of thoughts and fears and excitement. Now, however, Melora felt empty, her legs mechanically placing one foot in front of the other. She did not question that the land she walked through experienced no night, no day, only a dim twilight that lasted forever. She did not question the fact that she never slept, she never stopped walking, and she never saw anyone else on the lonely road.
Sometimes Melora did seem to sense that other people were there. Maybe she was simply going insane, but she could swear that from time to time she could hear other people's voices, or feel them next to her like shadows passing over water. She never saw anyone though.

At the end of her journey, however, night finally did come. The sudden change in light startled Melora into alertness, and she stared at where the road had taken her. She was standing on the outskirts of a small little town, oddly out of place with the rest of her surroundings. Continuing her walk, she saw that the town was inhabited----the lights in the funny, squat little houses were on, and she could see silhouettes of people moving about within. All the houses were more or less the same, sitting on a square patch of lawn, with large diamonds painted on the garage doors.

Is there a place for me here? Melora thought, looking about as she walked, noticing the pain in her arms now more than ever. This place...looked very much like where she had run away from in the first place. Where had her feet taken her? Had she managed to simply walk in a circle?

No, she decided after walking for a time. This was not the same place. It simply looked remarkably similar.

Melora was seriously considering knocking on a door, when she saw something that immediately put to rest any ideas of staying in that little town. Before her, rising in the distance, was a mountain, and on top of that mountain...

Melora's eyes widened. She could stay no other place than there. She would plead and beg the owner until they let her in. When one sees the dream they have dreamt all their lives, one can do nothing to resist it.

Walking quickly, the suburban houses ended at a little cul-de-sac bordered by dense flora. Melora's heart skipped a beat. It was night time, and she was reluctant to enter again such foreboding woods, but she steeled herself, reminding her that this was the last leg of her journey, that she would reach the top of that mountain no matter what.
It would be half an hour of trudging over a very over grown path, unsticking her torn dress from the brambles, and more than once removing a sharp stone from her boots, before she finally stood before the most beautiful house she'd ever seen. It was immense, darkened with age, and was more of a castle than anything else. She frowned a bit. It was also falling a part in places. Did no one live here?

But that wasn't possible; the house might have been going to ruins, but the garden looked like it was tended to every day! Walking cautiously, Melora made her way through the immense lawn, gasping in awe at the carved horticulture. About her grew giant dragons, ballerinas, and—in the very center–an enormous hand, reaching up to cradle the sky; all pruned from green bushes. Who could have done this?

She knocked on the door, hearing the sound echo within, but no one answered. Too tired to care for the consequences, Melora pushed open the door. Within the mansion all was dark and covered in a layer of dust. Perhaps it was ominous, but compared to the places Melora had traveled through, the air was quiet and devoid of ghost's whispers, and she felt as if she could finally rest her weary feet. Wandering about on the first floor, she found a large couch and lay down on it, quickly falling asleep.

---

It would be several hours before the man in the attic summoned the courage to leave his room and walk to the top of the stairs. Being silent, he rested his palms against the railing, being careful not to clang against it. Directly below him lay the stranger whom he'd seen walking up the path, looking more weary and tired than anyone he'd ever seen in his existence. Now he gazed at her with mixed emotions. He had not seen another living being for quite some time now, so long in fact that he could not even count the years. Yet he knew what people who came from the village below brought—unhappiness, in a word. He looked closer. Her clothes were not like the others. And she looked dirty; the hem of her white skirt was wet looking and brown. It was full of holes. Her hair was stuck with leaves; her black and white socks were torn, her boots were caked with mud. Had she really come from the village? Her hair was white and was knotty enough to make little rope-like strands. Some of them were braided, and they were all pulled into two sloppy buns on the sides of her head, right above her ears. Her skin was pale but not anemic; and had freckles on the shoulders and across her upturned nose. Her eyebrows were thin, and there was a small but pronounced mole on the left side of her upper lip. Her shirt was tattered and only stayed up by the force of a few ragged strips of cloth around her arms. She was short enough that her whole body fit on the medium sized couch with room to spare, but her legs were not stocky–they were slender. Her boots lay on the floor, her toes still in their socks. The man observed all of this without comment, it was in his nature to observe and to remember everything. He saw...art...in this new being, a very big potential for art, but for now he withdrew. In all honesty, he hoped she would leave. People from below only brought pain, and he was not prepared to try to socialize with more of them.

Disclaimer: Edward doesn't belong to me; I think he's Tim Burton's. Don't sue me. Melora is MINE.