Then all the women, like painted skeletons, marched across the world. Standing on daggers, shrouded in black, barely recognizable in a sea of dark and frail figures. Huddle together by the billions. Marching, migrating, birthing, serving, wasting away. A force so beautiful, large, captivating, sharp and confusing that like a wave they crash on the shore of men and are swept away, faster than the jagged rocks can cling back on to them.