The Ghost child.

Born from what is unreal, she paints the truth onto the canvas that is the sky, she is the light. But she is also unreal, a fluttering fairy in the fog of a morning, the gray of a shadow in the eyes of a flower. She was borh from the loins of a real woman, she paints her lies over the canvas she calls the earth, she is darkness. All things spring from her, and all things will return to her when they have lived their life.

She is what's real,
she is what's unreal.

She is the Crow.... The ghost child.