All unfamiliar eyes flicker unthinkingly over her face. But one pair stops at the inconspicuous red rash at the corner of her left eye, a makeshift scar molded from shed tears and sculpted by a desperate hand. That hand assisted in shaping a smile that dissolves when it finds the sanctuary of solitude, yet appears once more when it finds a crowd. Only the smile's reflection knows its deceptive nature, but this pair of eyes is analogous of a detective's glass.

That's what best friends are for.

Female is not a race. Male is not a race. Human is a race. He created Man in his image. Male as female is a derision of Man, as Man refers to Human. He is an all encompassing statement - male, female, or an unknown power. She is merely a specification of a general term by appending the letter "s". Just as "all men are created equal", men is all encompassing yet biased and interpreted, and so it is impossible to pretend to understand God's will and the intentions of a precarious idea.

One.

Silky bristles on a figure, fidgeting in the delicate breeze.

Two.

Glossy threads weaved in a quilt of intricacy.

Three, four, five.

Glass orbs opaque with intensity.

Six.

A pair of noble daggers stained with crimson life.

Seven.

The haloed silhouette dilated to an immense shadow.

Eight.

The spider sauntering in the twilight.