In the darkness the twinkle of a key fitting into a lock precedes the mechanical melody of a music box. The lid lifts with a creak to reveal the facade of a ballerina upon her pedestal in third position. She rises, porcelain arms cracking along tendon with the grace of her movement. She’s desperate, the strings along her limbs twisting her in circles. Her master hovers above her with a manic grin. She’s powerless. [ this stage is the dearest of my children, where moonlight moves through alleys. ] — The crowd watches on with smiles of awe, eyes sparkling in the magic of the show while she weeps. She tugs at her restraints, a marionette entangling herself in a web of deceit, all the while her broken heart slowing in its rapid pulse. Crystal eyes grasp for any hope in the darkness, but there is no savior. No one will come. She closes her eyes, giving in to the demon using her body as a conduit, the recesses of shadow in her mind growing with each slow intake of breath. She lifts her arms into fifth position, envisioning herself as a beautiful swan in the middle of a winter wonderland; cold, distant, safe. As she twirls upon her pedestal, her feathers of freedom blossom upon her china arms and she feels, for once, the wind of change caressing her not unlike a lover long lost. [ a bent twig, a summer in its care. white vast open sea. on the wings of a phantom moon comes to take me home. ] — She leaps into the air, the bolts connecting her to the wood of her foundation causing her slippered feet to shatter into glitter. There is a smile on her face and diamonds falling from her eyes as she soars ever higher toward the light far above, where paradise and relief beckon her. A hand reaches out for the warmth of the sun and she’s engulfed in the blazing rays, ceramic limbs shattering to reveal soft tissue underneath, as pale as the armor she had been trapped in. Crystal eyes close for the last time and she allows herself to flutter in the void between slumber and consciousness, her heart stitching itself back together with the thread of the silver havens. [ in winterland a moment is an eternity, creeps to me on kitten paws. i get to live here where the story begins, where a violin echoes the eternal melody of immense longing, waking up the earth with its song. ] — Small toes create pressure marks in a vast wide world, crystal eyes in a furry white face gazing outward at the world anew. The marionette on the inside dances with renewed vigor, grateful for her chance at light and love once more.

Once upon a time, two small children were inseparable, brought together by loneliness and a need to belong. They did everything together and promised one another that no matter what they would always be there for the other, in a way no one else had before. Then tragedy struck. Torn from each others sides, they were thrown into the void of age, where lies, deceit and mistrust became their constant companions. In this time of doubt and fear, they found themselves changing. Tasman reflecting the night: beautiful, unpredictable, misunderstood and Taikatalvi reflecting the day: bright, promising, fleeting. Tasman had pushed her promise as a young kit to another to the back of her mind while Taikatalvi continued to hope, as that was her way of life and she refused to give up on anyone without just cause. Once inseparable they found themselves on different paths, with Tasman moving ahead and Taikatalvi staring after her, still caught at the fork in the road, unwilling to make a decision lest it be the wrong one. It wasn’t until the last minute, when the fading light of day and the coming shadow of night created twilight, that they reconnected and a piece of Taikatalvi’s heart was returned to her at last. Fighting at one another’s sides, they believed they could take on the world as long as they had each other and family. Then one day, on a stroll to clear her mind, Tasman vanished. There was no word beforehand, no piece of information to go off of. Just the silence of the wind and the whispers across the waters of the haunted brook. Concerned for her friend, Taikatalvi made a judgment call and, with the aid of Aylik, Asya, Lev and Dinara, went on a journey to find her friend and leader and bring her home. They tracked as long as they could, checking every nook and cranny that offered Tasman peace at one time or another, until hope seemed to fade with the dying light and Taikatalvi feared the worst. Only then did a sign present itself to her: a light in the abandoned nest on the bank of the haunted brook. It was unnatural, an omen of evil, but she knew it would be her last chance at finding her friend. Together with those who she had grown close to over their travels together they infiltrated the nest, discovering their Tsar entrapped in a wire cage as if she were a rat instead of the royal monarch they knew her to be. As a team they set her free and ran from the drunken shouts of twolegs that had lost their bounty. Free at last they scurried into the night back home, everyone changed, everyone thankful and a new path at the side of her friend beckoning Taikatalvi home.