Disturbed by an anguished loud cry, millions of fireflies rose like the rising soprano in operas, swirling till they took the place of stars embedded in the night sky.
Amidst a weary, dark forest that wore haze, dew and dark as clothes stood a large ugly wooden hut, beautiful on its own.
The hut was made of strong pine wood, animal fur, leather and bones tainted with blood, straw, old large blocks of stones and a big chimney.
The fireplace had run out and had started breathing it’s last. A weak stream of smoke and despair rose from the chimney which was suddenly eaten alive by the fog and the dark.
Here lived an ugly giant, powerful, wise and rich. He didn’t have any friends thus he didn’t have any name.
Names have value when you’re loved and the giant never knew what that meant.
The land of Jacaranda, humans and monsters lived together but not in harmony. Monsters were outcasts, feared and hunted, discriminated and chastised, tortured and killed.
The monsters did the same.
The giant had killed many humans that threatened his life and had a strange habit of decorating his house with skulls of his victims.
He had put up a large fence around his home, each spike held a skull tight, a grisly memoir for him, horror for his enemies.
Jacaranda was a beautiful land, brimming with natural beauty, rivers pristine, cold and magical. Sweet fruits, rich meat and old alcohol.
A fairy tale bliss? Nah, my friends, far from it.
The inhabitants of Jacaranda were cancer for this land. The smell of death, ominous thoughts and malaise gnawed every corner of her.
It was cold, always cold. It was dark, always dark. ∎
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