No matter where she goes they look at her. Surrounded by the goblins, the ghouls, the weeds, she is there — alone.
She begged for this life, she rejoiced in the attention. She sold her soul to him. No not the devil. HIM.
‘Sir, do I look good enough for you?’
‘Sir, am I perfect enough for you?’
‘Sir, what can I change for you?’
He worships her, but only when she is perfect. Although the masses adore her, she is a slave to him. To her, he is everything. He is the only thing that matters. Oh, and he knows this, he uses this to his advantage — to him it is a game. Everything is a game.
To every question she asks he replies:
‘No, paint yourself more for me’
‘You are beautiful, but soon you will start to fade, like all mortal women do’
‘Become perfect, and I will love you for eternity.’
She paints herself, She starves herself for that all-important figure, she forgets herself and aims for perfection, but time is against her. She spots the raven, amongst the sunflowers and asks three questions:
‘Am I good enough?’
‘How can I achieve perfection?’
‘How can I hold onto my beauty?
The raven tilts his head to one side and answers her wryly:
‘Only you my dear know the answer to this. There is only one question you need to ask; is he worth the sacrifice?’
She stands still, so still not even the slightest breeze affects her. Time ceases; her dress begins to seep into the ground. The vines wrap around her. Frozen in time, she is motionless, she is trapped, but she is beautiful — a sunflower.