From my observances, nature seems to have an innate pleasure in using beauty to lull in it's prey. I have had a recurring dream for the past week of one such tale, of a place tattered beneath the solitude of time and to the east. There lays a village beneath a dark canopy of forrested forgotten places. Despite its beautiful decor, this town holds sinister secrets, mischief, and whispers. As barnacles subdue and play illusion with the flesh of sunken treasures, surfaces like to deceive. Deception likes that place between you and the air. Between you and the truth. Eloquently and absurdly, in this dream it becomes known to me, that I do not belong *here*. Through some omnipotent source, or whisper, that no one is granted safe passage, through the densely coiled limbs to the village below my horizon. This, however, does not halter my ambitions to reach such works of the forbidden. As likely wiht all such scenarios, my desire is simply sharpened. So, as I make my descent from the skyward perspective of surrounding mountains, the town slowly and ever so softly, comes ever so smoothly into focus. Then swiftly and furious. The only way in or out of my aforementioned destination appears to be through a labrynth of gorgeously, wind carved olive trees, which stretch and sway for miles in all directions. Except to the East.. I continue, in a labored dance, toward the entrance of this ancient maze, when suddently a current of motion catches my eye. Amidst the entrance, there sits one of the loneliest and most beautiful looking of souls to ever grace my eyes. With locks of dread, with a dark passion about her demeanor, she looks as if she were in a tranquil requiem which I have disturbed. For, as our visions make contact, she hallowly greets me with a disturbingly, knowing glance. At this point I must confess that in the dream i felt a bit scared and intimidated for a moment, but despite my reflexive apprehension, I'm compelled to continue, ever so slowly, yet quickly, to make my approach toward her ghastly beauty.....yes....yes, slowly. Once I become within words distance, she offers a gleaming sphere of light up towards me in stop motionesque, flickering light jerks. As I'm beckoned closer, she begins to whisper an undecipherable child's hym, which sounds both sweet and terrible all at once. As the pattern of notes unfold, the sphere in her hands begins to resonate, pulse and gyrate in chaotic grotesqueries, until tendrils of pretty begin to tear forth from its glowing, virgin flesh. These tendrils, at first sway towards her in gentle soothing displays, yet as the tendrils continue coiling in angrier and angrier circles, they shift their attention towards me. Within a blink they, ever so softly, no, quite fiercely, lay their icy fingers upon my skin and here is where the words to the childs rhymes become clear and understood in one nightmarish epiphany, too inhuman to repeat.