dreams can change at the drop of a dime. they take unexpected turns and events fall before you, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. sometimes what you think is a dream will morph into a twisted nightmare, a trickery of the mind that leaves you gasping for air when you wake up, sweating, in your bed. they say dreams are the brain's way of working out problems that your conscious mind cannot deal with on its own. maybe that's why jindabyne found nightmares haunting her every night, leaving her sleepless and exhausted by the time the sun rose the next morning. jindabyne would tell no one of her silent pain. if you looked closely, though, you could see it. you could see it in the bruises under her eyes, the way her shoulders never sit straight, and the way her makeup always seems to hide the paleness of her complexion. you could smell it in the cigarette smoke that follows her around, badly covered up by cheap body spray. but those were the only clues, the only windows to the world that emily lived in. she always appeared well-dressed, in clean and tidy outfits with hair that was brushed and cascading down to her shoulders, framing her face in an almost planned manner. but anyone who knew emily would know that she planned nothing. ever since one day, two years ago, she refused to plan ahead. she says you cannot tell what the future will bring, so why count on it?
"my skin has turned from porcelain to ivory to steel."

Layout by Lameface.