How does a town heal from the loss of all of its children? It was a story untold, the vines growing over the caving structures that had once held the homes of happy families, the echoes of laughter long ago faded and choked down by death and despair.
These were the grounds where The Fiddler had once stood in all her glory. Her music had filled the town square and brought delight to the ears of the children who had never before heard such a thing. They had danced and sang around her, giggling as The Fiddler twirled and spun, leading them through the town. Their parents had felt the sting of happiness in the corners of their lips, for so much smiling was painful. In a village where hard work was all that anyone had ever known, seeing the children delight and play was something that brought warmth to their hearts.
The children followed the sound of the fiddle, even as The Fiddler lead them out of town, the children dancing and chasing each other as they went, forgetting their fears of the shadows of the forest, and the warning tales that their Grannies and Papas had told them. And then the sounds of their voices were gone, a forgotten memory in a forgotten place.
No one knew exactly when the Fiddler had arrived at the Carnival, but there she was in the middle of the of the festival, having claimed one of the raised platforms as her own. She was dressed in all sorts of bright colors to fit the theme of the carnival, her skirts appearing to be made of many colorful scarves, and a bright colored laced bodice was paired with them. Blond hair hung to her shoulders, tied back away from her face with an orange scarf. Her hands worked the bow of her fiddle at incredible speeds, playing a song that made everyone want to dance and sing. She had begun to draw quite a crowd, but it seemed that the children in particular were unable to pull themselves away from her performance.