I named them: I liked to call her Dg, because that name could only be thought. I stated her probable vanity forgetting about rings and bracelets over the ledge, constantly but secretly spying her attitude. Once I thought she would adorn herself with the jewelry but she examined them without touching, like a distrust spider; and even though once she came to wear an amethyst ring but was only for an instant, and then put it up like it burned her. While she was away I the hurried and hid the jewelry and then noticed that she was happier.

Then the stations declined, some loosened and other tight with purple lights, without her precious calls reach our aspects. The hand would return every evening, wet from the autumn rain, and I would see her lying with her back on the floor prolix drying each finger, sometimes with small hops signifying her satisfaction. Her shadow would cove with purple on the evenings. I would then put up a fire on my feet and she would curl up and she barely moved but to implicitly write an album with recordings of a cotton ball that she liked to tie and twist. I advice that she was unable to stay long time calmed. One day she found a trough with clay and quickly went on it, hours and hours she worked with the clay while I on my back pretended not to worry about her homework. Naturally she made a hand. I let it dry and laid it on the desk to make her think that I liked her design. It was an error: