In the middle of the night, when the walls seem to move closer and the shadows become fumbling fingers, the puppet rises. The strong springe that dominate over her body are controlled by a voracious claw which chuckling plays with the strings, enjoying to hold a life in its hand; A life, which cannot avail itself of its own strength. The cutting ropes, the deadly twines, feel its way up her body while dragging her under in the dark. Unable to see the gleamy sunrise she only sees the dead, covering the ground before her, who hypnotise her with their arrogating stares that desperately call for help.
The vicious circle had closed a long time ago. The beaten hope only leaves a cold emptiness, which reminds the puppet every moment of the power-mad presents.

Then the sun rises and gives hope to the puppet that slowly changes to a human being. With the last bit of strength she could muster, she fights her owner and for one more day she drags herself through her life, hoping the sun would never go down. She looks at other people crossing her way with a brave smile that conveys the perfect image of a happy person – and yet the child in herself cries. While inside the sea of tears constantly rises one can only see the iron smile from the outside that makes her face one among many. Nobody notices that the child, concealed by this mask, struggles to breath and slowly drowns.
The silent howl of despair reaches nobody and when the day draws to a close, she realises that the coming night will never end again. The battle with herself bereaved her of all her strength. One last time in the freezing loneliness of the night she turns to an empty puppet who – too tired to rear up for a last time- faces up to the dead bringing sway of fear.

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