There was a little girl. She had a name, but nobody really called her by that name. She had jet black hair and high cheekbones. Her skin was as white as freshly fallen snow. Her eyes, black like coal. She had a twinkle in her eyes, like sparks from a crackling fire. Her lips were as red as the wild berries in the springtime. When she smiled the sun shone and flowers lifted their heavy heads to look at her. When she cried, the clouds wept and the gods tried to please her by sending lightning bolts to brighten up the day.
One morning, on a peculiarly warm autumn's day the little girl sat beneath a great oak tree. The oak was old and wise, and was particularly pleased that the little girl had chosen the sit under the comforting shade of his muscular branches. The little girl sat. She looked around the neighbouring pine trees and redwoods. She watched a squirrel clamber about the branches of the oak, carrying acorns and then pinecones. She sat there and she watched till noon.
Then without a word, the little girl got up, and ran.
She ran past the great oak and the young pine trees.She ran past the woodcutters cutting firewood. She ran past the little log cabins at the edge fo the forest. She ran past the old lady in the rocking chair knitting a red woolen sweater. She ran past the family dog. She kept running. The woodcutters put down their axes and stared after her. The family dog barked and gave chase till something else got its attention. The old lady kept knitting, she was too old for these energetic endevours.
The little girl ran all the way to the otherside of the small village. She reached the placid lake gold. The lake used to seep in the metal, but it was all gone now. They had panned it out, dry. The little girl didn't stop running. She ran all the way till the water reached her ankles. The water reached her waist, chin, nose and finally engulfed her completely.
The gods were distressed and sent a mighty frost. The lake froze over, solid.
You can still see that little girl at the bottom of the lake today. The ice never thawed out. Her jet black hair is windswept. Her eyes large and focussed on something just in front. Her lips are still red and you would have sworn that her cheeks were tinged with the faintest pink.
