Hello curious child. You seem to be lost. You are in a place where only fools would go hunting to find themselves hunted back by savage wolves. It's a cold, dark and macabre place where not even a speck of dew can creep in, a hue of obscurity, here it's timeless and eternal darkness. It's a place that's always misty, cursed and mysterious. Here it's a maze of thin, gaunt and creepy leave-less pine trees that resemble skeletons, scaring every trespasser they meet. Crows are on loose here and rule this melancholic land, sitting side by side on every row of every tree branch of every tree in this desolate forest , they become black velvet leaves to the bony trees and indicate that a murder may be on it's way. Would you like to know where you really are? I'll tell you where you are. Welcome to the black forest!

Can you hear that? That gloomy, mournful and somber dirge? It seems to come right from the heart of the black forest. Smell that damp stench of decay and blood? It's all around us. It's freezing here with all this snow that's pouring over us to make this day even more grim than it already was. You can feel the cold snow and can play with it, but you're all alone! See those fading shadows over there? Are they real figures or a group illusionary spectrum who are trying warn us away and tell us to beware that this is an evil forest without an escape, that has a life all of it's own and intends to gobble you up? Look closer and you'll see men and women dancing hand in hand, swifting and swaying, slowly and gently to the depressing atmosphere. All these grim dancers have wild crimped hair, ghastly faces, are dressed in black with bright ribbons, beads and balloons to contrast against the dark clothing, with spiral umbrellas, striped socks and polka-dotted top hats and a sorrowful look hanging on each of the sad dancer's face.

And if you look over there under the twisted tree that is the heart and mother of this pitch-black forest, under the split trunk, you'll see a young lady being buried in the snow for the second time of her life. The first time she was buried it made her skin as white as snow, with striking black hair the color of ebony – like the yin and yang, bloody lips and bright starry eyes. She looked like a porcelain doll and would often get called Snow White. This time that she's being buried, she's as blue as a corpse and all her beauty has vanished along with her last breath of life, making her look like a ghoul. Unfortunately, her epitaph is silent and the only visitors are phantoms that intend to embrace her to the Plutonian. You're probably wondering who this girl is? Well, to put it clearly she is me! Now, don't be upset about my death; I wanted this to be a gaiety funeral party where the best of me is remembered not a grievous saturnine epitaph where I'm mourned by people who never really cared about me but came to show off their pricey mourning garments. You must understand that death isn't always bad thing or the end of everything; to some it's a relief, a liberal escape to an open door, where the two shall finally reunite again or a forevermore sweet slumber. People who fear it are probably not living at all. You see, I always had to run in a fret or be an excluded alien because I never belonged anywhere and nobody accepted me, I've never found anyone who could relate to my dusty queer soul. There was nothing left for me in this miserable world, in the end the only way to be free was by dying. At least, the dead have nothing to say. Finally, I may rest in peace.