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Rating: Anne has now lost the games. She walks away, a tall wall behind her like an uncertain future. Uncertain like her gaze of a child with an ever shorter skirt.
She whispers light melodies, words that leap over the gap. They fly like pages of a fairy tale book scented with childhood.
Pages that become life on the notes of a foggy chamber orchestra and pastel-colored ambient puffs.
Pages suspended in the eyes of a woman who still has the gaze of a child, looking with melancholy at the faded "paradise" in front of her on the road.
She throws the stone and jumps.
Moving away from the tall wall.
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