She is already leaving those unending games of feigns. Naked truth under the naked sky. Looking up, hoping for hope to come, foot under the pile of stones. Wants to fly up, but only the one leg, formed into enormous proportions, is ready to bounce off.
She let her sister touch it. Don't look, just feel. How precise palpation it could be with six fingers? Six senses? Insulted, and scolding to the Moon, who throws out another image, considered to be a "mirror".
Even the observer closed his eyes, sensing, his game is over. Softly tries one, maybe last, attempt to reconnect with the left arm-heart, which was still days ago so strong. There are already two buried bodies. Near the temple, near those prayers.