The few who dwelt in the mist of the forest knew of her.
They knew her footseps like those of a beloved.
The slightly staggered breath of heartbreak.
They knew her,
her story,
her past,
all their lives,
but had never met her.
She prefered to keep it that way.
Lost without form, without absolute certainty at what the world may bring to her, she waited,
drifting from hollow to hollow, leaving trails of her breath in the still morning.
She was waiting for her fortune,
Waiting for her future to arrive.
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