Her love was made of sparrows' bones. Tied together with dolls' hair, and bits of string. His hand left a string of purple chasing round her neck.

At night, when she sang lullabies her mother knew, he unraveled the strings that closed up her heart. He spun out her fondest memories, her simple joys, her farthest dreams. Then he hung them out, one by one, still while she sang her mother's favourite songs.

In the dark, the nightmares crept in and drew close to her heart's loves. Brushed up against them in a sweet embrace, like the caressing wind. And, one by one, they tore her memories, her hopes, her dreams down.

When dawn came, with open eyes, she sewed her love back together, and fixed the gaping holes as best she could, with tiny, trembling fingers.