The young woman is terribly silent. Her features are delicate ; her arrow-like ears and her cerulean hair surprise me. She turns to me, but she doesn’t seem to see me. I don’t belong to her world.

I call on her. She shudders as if she had heard a whisper. After a while, she shakes her head and puts on a melancholy air, before turning back.

An older woman comes on. Wrapped in leather, she glances around with suspicion. Her fine face is dotted with spots. The blonde hair, short, has some red highlights under the light.

À sa façon de se déplacer, je devine une chasseresse. Elle interroge sa protégée, puis l’incite à la suivre d’un air dépité. Elles sont visiblement attendues. Je les regarde partir sans oser les suivre.

The landscape suddenly disappears and I find myself in my garden. My eternal pen twirls before my eyes under the movement of my hand. I drop it with surprise to have a look at my watch. The clocks turn briefly in the opposite direction. The purring of my cat on my knees makes me offer her my attention.

I just wanna... go back.