The apocalypse. The end of the world. Time itself has come and gone, leaving nothing behind. Yet somehow, in the middle of all the nothingness is everything. Everything and nothing, together, both broken and incomplete. The world - once bright, colorful, and lively - now lies torn apart, ripped to pieces and left in shadow. Dead.
She walks, silently, through this disfigured, dark, depressing wasteland. She alone is light, against the cold gray sky and ground and rubble. Tattered rags clothe her, and though they are somewhat stained with dirt and blood, she appears elegant, glowing, almost magical.
The Silent Woman steps gently, gracefully through the ruins, seeming so out of place, not belonging to the world on which she is wandering. She reaches out to touch the twisted, fragile skeleton of what appears to have, at one time, been a sturdy chain link fence. Something that had protected, defended, kept one safe from that which is bad. Now it too, along with the rest of the world, has been defeated.
Travel and moving from place to place is no longer a simple matter; the ground around her is littered with random tools, broken signs, pieces of wood and metal, old torn apart furniture, and various other debris, all covered in dust, ash, and blood. In many areas, paths are completely blocked off. In others there is just enough space to get around. Regardless, not a single place escapes the devastation. Nowhere is free from the dark.
She continues walking, past a small stool with a rock replacing one of it's legs, beyond two beaten down and broken armchairs and their matching couch. Her face saddens as she catches sight of a baby cradle, lying along with all the rest of the discarded furniture. It had fallen to it's side, several of the support beams snapped. Dry blood coated the fabric inside.
Sickened by the gruesome sight, she turns quickly away, instead focusing on a large wooden lean-to next to her. A few slats were missing, but it was perhaps the least damaged of everything within several feet. She gently caresses the edge of the wall. This place is broken. It has fallen from grace. It's filled with rubble and trash and has been burned and torn down, it's absolute hell. But this place is hope. There's something about it, some feeling, perhaps a false sense of safety, security. A dead fence, but a standing lean-to. Shelter still exists. Somewhere, it exists, and as long as that still stands, maybe...maybe...
Off in the distance, a bell rang, snapping the Silent Woman back to the present. It was time to leave. She continued on her way, past the shelter and into the empty world again.