I was sitting at church one evening waiting for the choir to finish practicing (my ride was in it). A friend and I were talking and I started to draw. It ended up being poor Genevieve. Tasha wrote a little story to go along with it, so here it goes: Genevieve darted swiftly and carefully through the trees. She wasn't sure what was behind her, and she didn't want to know. Whatever it was, it was bigger than her and as fast as her, and it was definitely not nice! She flew till she thought her wings would fall off, when suddenly up ahead, a place to hide. It was a small cottage, a place that looked warm cozy, and best of all, safe. She darted in an open window just in time to see it close behind her. She flopped down in a corner on top of a pile of rags, and fell into an exhausted sleep. She awoke in the small hands of Sarah, the 5-year-old daughter of a tailor. As she struggled to free herself from the grasp of this monster child, her clothes were removed, and she was put into what felt like a flour sac in one place, and a silk shirt in another. 'Do I dare to look?' she thought. Well, whether she should have or not, she did. And immediately, she wished she hadn't. While she was sleeping the tailor's daughter had made her a dress from her daddy's scraps. The puffy sleeves were linen with red silk slashes, the ruffles were many different colors and patterns: Gingham, checks, and solids, plaids, all layered together. And the bow¦ That was the kicker¦That awful plaid bow! Where did she find that one? 'What on earth is this! Why is it on me? And who are you?' Genevieve asked angrily. 'Well,' she answered sweetly,' daddy's gone to town, and there's no one else to play with.' 'Ugh' she thought 'Oh well,' she thought, 'It's better to be treated like a Barbie doll, than eaten by that thing...isn't it?'