She was a skilled puppeteer,manipulating her puppets and pulling their strings ; some fall dead,some struggle to elude her curse, and others just wait for a move.she resented the feeling of being the Goddess of their stories,but somehow it was consoling for her to write a line or two for her puppets to recite and follow .Her stories were the usual ,or not :  no antagonists ,no winners,no happy endings ; only random thoughts of a thantophobic .

The swollen reddish lines around her fingers from those tight strings notoriously made her the queen of puppetry.Fishnet gloves, red nails ,and black strings : she never played safe.

For the ones who admired her reflection in the mirror it seemed an inescapable fate to fall for her fishnet,or become another helpless puppet,but they never knew how desperately she was longing to break free from her own strings,it was a matter of time though…she was no Houdini .

The time has come,the queen of puppetry pulls the strings with her was so painful it cut deep into her skin .the puppets fell without making a was mirific ,orphic …almost a vision as she gazed vacantly at her own reflection in the mirror.

Curtains fall.



Pencil sketch with carbon overlay