There is a place where sacrifice is normal, where consistency is required and existence is still. Waiting and weaving and hardly moved by the wind, she watched as I moved by. I saw her too, wrapping her kill, otherwise, she was still. Done mending her web she returned to her center where she waited unaffected by the sun circling around her. There is a place where sacrifice is normal, where consistency is required and existence is still. Until...the odd day that she wasn't watching or weaving or waiting at all. There was a day that she was gone.