The moon smugly gazed at her perfectly round, pockmarked reflection on the surface of the ice as it dodged among the thin cracks and dunes of windblown snow that had gathered around holes where the remaining cold liquid tried to escape. The stars shimmered brightly as they flickered on and off in the clear air. Shadows crept through the dark underbelly of the forest, avoiding nature’s nightlights and the swirling air outside the cover of leaves. The world had been turned into a perfect picture, Mother Nature’s portrait, or what it would be if she were to have one. She filled the sky with the blackest ink and flecked it with white as she bled the earth the brightest of white and doodled over it with black. Everything was either completely devoid of color or tinted with all of them. The black swallowed any light that tried to shine on it while the white spat it back at the source.All was perfect and in its proper place; even the wind kept still so as not to ruin any of the picture. The moon surveyed the quiet setting but felt something was not in correct form. Air was trembling where it should not have been and the perfectness was on the verge of toppling into chaos. The moon glanced at every corner, seeing everything as it should have been, and retreated into her original mode of building up her self-image. She failed to notice one tiny being, however, in her short visual tour: a little girl, standing at the edge of the forest. No footsteps trailed behind her and there was no trace of her origins. The only thing that proved that she was real and not just a figment of an idea, was her shadow and the slow rise and fall of her scrawny ribcage.Long, sleek black hair trailed down from her tiny head and spilled over her shoulders. A white cotton nightgown stretched just past the middle of her stick-like thighs. Her skin, being paper thin, was the same color as the snow, only with a tint of pink. Her eyes resembled pools of oil, dancing with rainbows, but as dark as the night. Only her lips screamed she was not part of this painting. They seemed to be the only part of her body that held any blood. Bright red like the liquid flowing under their skin and lightly trembling with each gaseous exchange that passed through them, they also made a side note of her miniscule existence. She was perfect in every way. No flaws would have been found if she had been closely examined. There were no wrong curves of her skin, no hairs out of place, no muscles too taught, and no shadows blended incorrectly. The only problem was that she was meant for another portrait not put together by Mother Nature. She was meant for man.The forest before the child arrived had been still and lifeless. Because of her appearance, though, all of the flora and fauna existing in the wilderness came alive, as though she had breathed life into them. The trees suddenly swayed in the gusts the wind had been holding back. Silence no longer engulfed the entirety of the dense woods and was pierced with shrill whistles of tiny creatures, deep howls of larger predators, soft patters of paws, and crunchy rustling of leaves. The moon cringed at the chaos and hid her crying face from the earth out of the shame of catastrophe. The stars remained, looking on at the spectacle that would surely change the way anyone looked at the imminent interaction between beauty and death.The snow had crusted over in the girl’s path so that as she walked, she never once made a dent in the powder; only warmth was left lingering in her wake. She floated towards the forest and slipped between the trees, vanishing from the open field. It was as if she never existed. No trace of her arrival and nothing to tell of her disappearance into the wood. How could anyone suspect her missing in all of her invisible silence?