The darkness will sit and watch you. He will watch you as you sit in the dirt, inspecting the scenery intently. Your face does not move. Your expression remains a stiff trophy case of perfection. He may even approach you, and gently stroke your porcelain cheek. You still remain motionless as he traces your lips with his dry, cold fingers. The fog invites you into a trance that you have already agreed to long before. Darkness moves his hand up and shifts the straying hairs away from your glassy, emerald eyes. Your eyes never moved, never blinked, just stared. They didn't even begin to water. We thought you were dead, with your skin so cold and ceramic. We chased away the darkness from your immobile body only to discover a corpse with a pulse. You were a china doll in the wind.