The Land of Dreaming

The ominous fog returns - slowly smothering the small spaces between the dying pine trees

Digging suffocating breaths into the bewildered depths

Each and every single creature, frightened into hiding. 

Sounds of twigs and branches creaking, deafens the eerie woods

Bloody foottrails seep into unsteady ground
And behind the area's eldest tree; a woman - bare of any fabric - is holding a smooth leather cloth in her left palm, firmly tugging on a rusty old dagger.
She rests upon the welcoming moss, her sore and wounded limbs caressing the damp green below. 

Vermilion rose petals scatter over her naked torso 

And a bullseye within automatically guides the shaft in her grip, to its first and only target.