Boris and Martin stared at the strange congregation in front of them. The poor maiden lay on her back on the muddy ground, and the seven mannequins stood around her in a circle. They were equally distanced and facing outward as if serving as protection. What made it strange was that there were no footprints in the inch-deep mud around them.
Martin glanced at Boris before carefully descending the steep slope that separated them from the muddy place. He slowly stepped across the mud and toward his daughter. His daughter looked so pristine as if she was not rolling on the ground last night. Her clothes didn’t have a speck of dust or mud, aside from the ones on her back. Even her hair was neatly gathered on her chest as if keeping it from getting dirty.
