Watching.

She looks through the shrouded window carefully, not wanting to be seen, but wanting to see. Watching, waiting. What can she see? A hint, perhaps, of things untold? A clue of the grand mystery that we are lost in? The harsh cruelty of the heart of the race? Perhaps. But it may be that there is no mystery to uncover. It may be that she is not seeing anything twisted or evil that revolts. She may be seeing truth. Shocking, revealing, simple, unthinkable truth. Perhaps she is being enveloped by a greater power, one that will alter the very course of her existance even as she waits in the misty frames. Perhaps. We can not know. All we can do is speculate. Perhaps.

Inspiration from an Irate Arachnid

It lies in wait, perfectly still and silent, waiting. Oh, the things that we could learn from the spider. It knows that in order to live, it must be silent and wait, listening, for what will give it life. It knows that to be sustained, it has to be patient. The wait is agonizing. It fills the spider with hunger and want. But it, in all of its wisdom, remains unmoved, despite the temptation to go and hunt for satisfaction. If it leaves the safe confines of its web, it will be destroyed. Obliterated. Stepped on by the frightened giants, eaten by a nameless beast, it doesn't matter how. All that matters is that if it leaves, it will perish. And so it waits. A twitch! The spider rushes forth for the fulfillment he has so long lain in wait for. The wait was worth his glorious reward. Oh, the things that we could learn from the spider.