• Wake the day. Break the dawn. Reveal in night. Clouds of the dawn float down to look like mists under her feet. The mists, like souls of the underworld, it twists and turns as she dances gracefully through the streets of choking darkness. In sunlit heat, she is invisible, hiding away from the human eye but still there...dancing. The night of the visible doll, the human eye can only see the mists of fog, dancing in a pattern. If you can hear a howling wind, swishing, banging, and thrashing against your window, that is her hair, so smooth and snakelike. You can see her eyes, so dark with a taint of mahogany, but don't stare! Like Medusa, she thinks you are flirting with her, which she despises. Unlike Medusa, she flies fiercely towards the nape of your neck with open fangs like a mixed harpy and vampire.

    But she is a ghost! Ghosts cannot bite. Ghosts are supposed to be harmless, though all she wants is your blood. Nonetheless, there is a worse part. And you thought that ghosts can't mess with you. Don't worry about it. You will have plenty of time to set your will, but by then it is too late as she is already living in your body. You may think that you feel nothing because you thought your open window blew the cold air, but she is inside. Do you feel cold? You shouldn't. She doesn't want you to know. She has a reason not to alter your warm temperature. Inside, she reaches the heart, touches the veins so serenely with a p***k (p-r-i-c-k), and breaks them to drink your enriching life. Can you feel your colors changing? Pink to red? Red to blue? Blue to purple? Purple to black? Black to pale? Are you becoming cold? Once she's done with you, she makes her escape and leaves you aching to die.

    Going back to her masking night, she continues to dance without leaving a trace. As she twirls in the mist, her dress intrigues us all. It is very serene, fainting white like the paleness of her face. The smooth curvature of her dress makes her body look thin and once beautiful. As we look down her magnificent but mysterious dress, we must ponder about her. The tail of her dress torn as if an animal attacked her.

    As she twirls and turns gracefully in a continuous pattern, look closer at her eyes. Don't let her notice you! Do you see the falling colors of rain down her pale face, the white tears, the red acid, and the blue ocean?


    Legend has it she was once a human. No ordinary human, she was born to the royal life, a beautiful majestic princess living in the richness of her palace's walls. She was the eldest, with two younger sisters. In gleaming joy of every day, she smiled just like an innocent girl. She was eager to help and teach those in need; nonetheless, her parents were hated.
    Rebels sprung to overthrow the current throne. One tyrant that was once a king offered this slaughter of the family for world domination and ordered his rebels to let him lead his oligarchy. The royal family was at stake. The rebels banged on the windows with swords, double-ended spears, and torches. The king and queen feared for their daughters' safety. The king offered to fight off these rebels.

    “My wife, please go now and be with our daughters. I will stay back.”

    “Please, you will get killed!” she begged, grabbing his arm.

    “It's for the family. Please, just go.”

    The queen led her daughters away to the dungeons, the safest place for now. The queen hid her eldest one in a lone dungeon cell, while she went off with the other daughters.
    The eldest shivered, left alone in the blood-stained and cobwebbed dungeon. The dungeon doors were sealed shut, and she couldn't see what was behind the doors. She was worried about her father. She would be scared if she ended up like her father, torn up and blood-stained. The dungeon had an unused toilet, sink, and a barred window. She looked out the window, hearing the riotous rebels, the clatter of weapons, and then the deep, pained sound of her father. She felt trapped and started to kneel down on the rat-infested floor, shivering. Her eyes were hypnotized by the images of blood that flow from her body. She stood up and walked to the door, pressing her right ear towards it. She could hear the deep mumbles of people rambling on and on. If it was the rebels, she stayed quiet. Walking away from the dungeon door, she looked around and there was nothing that interested her. Sitting down with her head in her knees, she closed her eyes for a while, trying to forget, but those images were still there.

    Suddenly, a piercing screech rang through her ears, opening her eyes, sounding like the screaming of her mother and two younger sisters. Screaming continuously in unison, she feared that she was next. What happened if they had found her and killed her, just like her mother and two younger sisters?

    “Mother...Julie...Jen...” she cried softly.

    She imagined the gruesome torture and deaths of her mother and two younger sisters, her heart beating endlessly with pain. She held her head having a terrible headache.
    I'm hurt. I'm scared. Please someone save me.

    She looked aside and there was a package lying on the floor. The window was barred, so how did a package get through? She crawled to it, reached out her hand, and felt like it calling for her.

    Please do not wear me. If you do, you will be in grave danger.

    As she opened it, there was someone watching her from that barred window. He had everything planned to lure her, to see her beauty. He knew that there was one hiding from the rebels, one missing from the royal family. He walked casually to his destination to find his next queen.

    A white dress caught her eye. The texture looked delicate and silky like those made from China. It was rare to find something this beautiful in England. Pale with hunger, her face resembled the pure whiteness of the dress. She lifted the dress to her chest and measured it to her body. It was perfect, but how strange a beautiful dress would be here in a dirty dungeon. Who would be behind this? This dress was too white, like a wedding dress, but it was too plain. She looked down at her dirty clothes and with a detesting eye, she undressed and allowed herself to slip on the slim, white dress. It was tight at the waist but loose at the chest. She looked like a peacock. The tail of the dress was ragged but colorful, with little eyes staring at her. The rebel king was fond of peacocks.

    As the afternoon darkened, a bang on the door interrupted her interlude with the dress. She walked to the door and leaned her right ear against it, hearing a strange, unholy breathing at the dungeon door. She stepped back away, heard the keys unlocking the door, and backed away as far as possible.

    “Who is there?”

    The door slammed open. A rebel saw her with the dress. His eyes seemed dark with obscure hair. His body was frightfully beautiful with his slender waist and muscled chest. His face lusted sinfully. It told her his secret. He walked towards her, and she stepped away, backed against the dungeon wall. His eyes met hers and started to lean against her shoulder. His lips, frightfully tender, kissed her neck so seductively. She felt frightened.

    What was going on?

    He tried to rip her dress, but she pushed him back with force. Her eyes filled with tears of red and white, she reacted furiously. As he ran towards her to finish his seductive interlude, she pulled out her hands and a beam of majestic light shone on his sinful soul. He shouted in pain, felt the ripping of veins, and blood dripped from his body. She breathed heavily and stared down at his poor body.

    “You took away my family! Now you try to take away my life?” She shouted in distress, pain, and tears.

    She pulled out her hands again, but she did not want to kill. She hesitated. She did not want to live in guilt because of her terrible sin. She knew how angry it was to see his face, but in her heart, a life does not need to go to waste. A life should be taught the true ethics.
    “A life cannot live if the owner of that life gives up his soul to steal one's throne. To earn a life, it takes determination and without it, you do not earn anything by stealing something you think that is rightfully yours.” She whispered with her hair tangling her face.
    Injured, the rebel king listened but scoffed at her words.

    “A life must always be stolen to get what you want. There is no doubt in my words. That is what the thousands of dynasties that have been created became. War is life. No life can be a gentle life. There is only bitterness and madness,” he argued.

    With his diminishing soul, he forced the eldest princess to be his marionette, his queen. If he couldn't have her in this life, he will have her in the next life. With every move he makes, she follows – lifeless and colorless.

    “I will be your eyes. I will be your heart. I will be your hands. I will be your soul. I curse you to dance for me every day and night as my beautiful queen. You will never stop. You have no family. I am your “husband”. If you disobey, I will be sure to make your life is a world of pain,” he sniggered cruelly.

    As he diminished away to the shadows, the princess dispersed with him. Her arms and legs were tangled in thin but strong ropes. Her heart was gone, turning her to a wandering ghost. She breathed in heavy gasps. She could feel the choking of his ropes. Trying to escape, it was too late. His fingers and hands controlled her dance. Her eyes were hypnotized.

    It left her on the dark, visible streets, dancing for him.


    Her power is still retained even in death with him. Every day and night, she devises a plan to take away his ropes and control and regain her freedom.
    As she dances, she still cries tears of red and white, red for the blood of her family and white for the paleness of her dress, her clear tears. If red and white were to mix, it would create peace.

    She doesn't want to look at people. She doesn't want her appearance to be noticed. If she sees you laughing, even if you are not laughing at her, she assumes you are humiliating her. For that, she will make you powerless, lifeless, and colorless.

    Blood is her eyes. Blood is her tears. Blood is her power. All she wants is to be alone and be free. Even if she needs help, this is her incantation.

    I'm hurt. I'm scared. I’m cold. Where is my savior?