Far, far, away but not so far, rather close actually, is a kingdom. It is neither big nor small, but somewhere in the middle. In the center of the kingdom is a grand castle covered in gold. Literally, everything is gold, the chairs, the plates, the piano, the harp, the bed linens, everything. Outside the castle are god-green fields of grass with daffodils scattered throughout. An assortment of trees is sprinkled in the countryside. Under each of them, an animal always lays, enjoying the shade. Through the center, a river runs. It has a soft, steady flow. There it is paradise.

After you are fifty miles from the castle though, the ground suddenly becomes cracked and dry. The grass is yellow and crunches when you step on it. The river stops abruptly. The air is filled with grey smog. The sun beats down making it unbearably hot. Mosquitoes pester inhabitants. Here is where the villagers live.

The villagers are lively, but dead people. They spend their weekends parting until morning. After the weekend, they go back to farming or selling goods, dragging on their feet from lack of sleep and hangovers. The small wages they earn are thrown away buying more beer and more useless things. Even the children have become reckless. None will listen to authority. Everybody lies and steals and murders without second thought.

In the cluster of cottages though is one single cottage that stands out from the rest. This one is shabbier than most. Large holes are in the thatch roof. Trash acts as a carpet, covering every spare inch. Rats, the only animal living in such a village, scurry across the floor. A bed off to the side is unmade and dirty. A wobbly chair sits in the corner facing the window.

A woman lives in this place amongst the dirt and the filth. She dresses in rags. Everyday though, she goes and sits by the window looking out towards the castle. From there though, of course you cannot see the castle. Only a shining glimmer bright as the sun can be noticed. Her name is Vidasin.