Basically an extended metaphor, my mind wants me to express it in some way~
A box; wild-strawberry red, we call it.
Crafted with the delicacy of a dancer, prancing through a ballet.
The Nutcracker comes to mind.
So dainty and pure.
Those that put it together were the people of fairytales whom you do not believe in. This box is no proof, it is faith.
Like that of the theists.
Each corner is entwined like the plaited hair of the beautiful towered princess whose story is known so well.
The crafted, twisted pairing, foxtrots up these corners and meets simply, yet perfectly at the centre of all which can be seen.
Its form strikes jealousy in all those with and without a box as such.
Our box is special in all its glory.
Whence one looks upon it, they are mesmerised and intrigued. How do these elements work together? Why is the rope never untangling; never falling apart and thus destroying the box?
How is it that the snow neither melts in, nor puts out the fire which it rests within?
How do those spirits with clear opposition share a side upon the box?
How can there be such detail and intricacy in an object so simple?
People are so jealous of this box; our box. A shared possession which they want for themselves without knowing what is within.
So, what is within?
Never, do we dare open our beautiful box of belief.