She was in a graveyard. Flower-headed creatures with translucent bodies danced under the green-bluish light that emanated from the firefly-flowers on the trees. It seemed like some sort of a carnival; she was not certain whether the dancers were flower-masked ghosts or the spirits of the flowers placed on the tombstones. She was overwhelmed with fear for this kind of thought was dangerous. They could be offended and then God only knows what they would do to take revenge.

She gasped in amazement; her body was now lighter and she was flying high in the sky, mounted on the back of a headless eagle. "What are you?" She asked with her voice or her mind. "A beheaded moon," answered the bird.

"Beheaded? And what is the silver disk shining in the sky?" "Well, it's my left eye. I don't know what happened to the other one; the wind is too noisy and I can't hear where it fell or rose."

 "And where are you taking me?"

"To the Carney Val."

Was this not the place where the stars met to mourn one of their kin that had gone nova?

The large room inside a castle was dimly illuminated by the green light that came from the eyes of the gargoyles that served the drinks. All the guests wore black suits or dresses and a dark, gloomy music filled the room. An invisible pianist was playing a melody on a piano painted on one of the walls.

This was not Carney Val; this was a wake. And the attendants dressed in black were dolls. One of them pointed an accusing finger at her. "You killed her," said the dark-eyed doll in a voice that sounded like the hiss of a snake.

Her heart pounded in her chest like a mad hammer. "No," she protested weakly, "I did no such thing. I loved my mechanical goose."

"You lie," said a spider-headed doll and she pushed her into a bottle filled with a luminous green liquid that was poison. This was her punishment; the green demon was going to fool around with her.

He started caressing her and this was extremely intense - scary and exquisite at the same time. She moaned, enslaved to the poisonous green pleasure. The incubus laughed; there were fireworks inside her head and her blood became like hot lava melting into the silk-like fluid of the Emerald Lake, made out of goblin tears.

She could not take more of it or her head would explode.

She woke up and sighed with relief. Inside the painting hanging on the mirror-wall, a dead bird was singing. This was the most beautiful melody she had ever smelled; it had the scent of lemon blossoms and sugar pie. She smiled and thought that she was happy in spite of the fact that she was in Hell.