She runs through the garden, vines tangling in the hem of her dress, tugging against her, the sighing branches reaching out to pull her back. On and on she runs, heartpounding, needing to escape, but the garden is an endless path of oppressive foliage pressing down on her, pushing her while it tries equally to take hold and stop her, driving her panicked feet faster.
The smooth soles of her shoes slide on the damp grass, whispering echoes in her ears, the scent of crushed greenery so strong it chokes her.
She swerves from the path, arms raised to protect her face, stumbling through the grasping green and out into the open. The bare earth lies beneath her patent leather shoes, the white shine gone, stained green and brown, bow missing from her right toe. She gathers handfuls of her skirt
