"she stood by the tracks. a pin straight line of crimson with milky composition. the ice seeming to form on her very bones, her skin made of placid cream stretched taut over glass and silk threads. the wind swept bulbs of curry, red and pumpkin around her feet, its hissing index catching the black bowler. frantic, the frost chipped from her bones and the fragile sinews twisted and shattered. outstretched fingers touch the sensitive pulled felt, every fiber frayed. her body now distorted, her slender form humped, her wing like shoulders slumped, her skin dusty with brisk. she watched the metal god stop before her. Its steel sides towering over her, a shrill whistle blew in warning. struck by its presence, her blue eyes gleamed back to its stainless finish. a man stepped out, a foot the size of her arm. his stature being composed of dark, bouncing off her meek light. his hand large, daunting and strong pulled her crinkled body straight. he spoke softly, a strong contrast to his build, as people blurred by them, ‘nothing like a train to humble.’"
