The empty house .III. by Christine-Muraton on DeviantArt (original) (raw)

"My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For, lo, the winter is past; The rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth; The time of the singing [of birds] is come, And the voice of the turtle-dove is heard in our land;
The fig-tree ripeneth her green figs, And the vines are in blossom; They give forth their fragrance. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
O my dove, that art in the clefts of the rock, In the covert of the steep place, Let me see thy countenance, Let me hear thy voice; For sweet is thy voice, and thy countenance is comely."
-Canticles-

There is a young woman, waiting, contemplating the light, playing by herself in an old, deserted house.
I don't know why.
She may knows that the outside world is an illusion and that it doesn't matter staying there or going out.
She even may be an illusion herself.
What I know is that she isn't sad at all, life is perfect has it is.