Up on the hill stands a solitary house. The only one for
miles around, it looks down upon the web of houses below in
its quiet loneliness. The skies are forever grey upon the
hill, swirling and pulsing to unseen music. The house itself
is quite unremarkable, save for the prescence, the sensation
you feel whenever you draw close to it. Its bittersweet
taste is caught in the wind, blowing down to the frightened
people below, who scurry into their homes like mice to their
burrows. No-one knows nor dare discover the truth - all that
they're sure of is that within that house lies the heart of
all loneliness. 

The heart of all loneliness, then, takes the form of a young
girl. Her age impossible to predict, one minute she appears
a comely woman of eighteen or nineteen summers, at others a
mere child of seven. Her raven black hair at all times falls
to her feet and marks a trail in the thickening dust behind
her, mapping a labyrinth traced from years of untapped
memory. Her limbs are long and thin like the branches of a
willow, white and poignant in their starvation. Her dress is
a simple sheath of dirtied white, torn and frayed from
countless years of use. But it is her eyes that stop the
heart and still the tongue.

The eyes seem larger than that of a human girl, and rounder
too. The lashes thick and sockets shaded dark with the
sleeplessness of immortality, though beautiful go unnoticed
once the eye itself is caught. For within glistens a world
that beggars human belief. In only a passing glance,
unlikely as a passing glance would be in such a place, the
victim is caught, captivated and spellbound by these simple
eyes that twist the mind and reaches beyond the limits of
sanity.

Because, she IS insanity.

I suppose if she were to have a name Insanity would be a
fitting one. She is the unliving possibilities of an
artificial reality - our reality, and the meaningless
desicions made by each and every one of us on a daily basis.
And, most importantly, the truths that run before, behind
and beyond our lies. The worlds and dimensions and countless
little thoughts connected by nothing to everything. She is
all that we deny and fear, held within a weary once-mortal
soul.

And all she wants, is a friend.

Like a child who plays with a beloved toy so much it breaks,
any brave soul that dare enter is crushed beneath the weight
of all he has ever known turning to ash. She sits and
watches, as yet another ally fails to make it through the
mirror to her side. If her eyes could hold tears, she would
have none left to weep. But human nature is not fit to carry
the truth, and not one of the few courageous souls could
swim the current, but fell into it instead, leaving behind
beautiful corpses for the girl to wave goodbye.

Still her mind searches, and I wake from my sleep as her
lullaby voice calls my name. I wake, my head clearer than it
has ever been to my memory, and my feet walk the labyrinth
that leads to her door.

Because all she wants, is a friend.