There is a dim light pouring its shine over the table's plastic cover. I can see an old lamp with dark yellowish crystals evoking a familiar dining room at a cottage located in a dried mountain's slope.
The acid light imbues the walls, and the flowering plant boldly shows me its ceramic belly swallowing the joy of looking. It doesn't let me see the floor. Right now this is a dark bitter tea lagoon.
There are three little princess figurines made of ceramic on the table. they exude a sinister appearance, like those of mannequins founded in abandoned amusement parks whose cold eroded bases are covered by vegetation and 90´s newspapers. Their conversation is a silent conspiracy. They know I am looking. I am not looking at them anymore, I am scared.
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