Her eyes, a deep glossy brown, have a certain look in them; wistful, yearning. What is it she wishes for, what is it that she is looking for and cannot find? If you must find it, you must look in a secret place, with but one key. If you must know her, take every image she has captured, lay them out before you, and weave them together into a song, full of melodies and harmonies that no one else can hear.

Black hair frames her face, blowing softly in the wind. Her hand reaches out to push the strands back behind her ears, but to no avail. The breeze pulls it from her fingers, tossing it back, billowing out behind her.

Travel the highway you do not yet know, roam a field never before discovered. Though they say it is all on the map, there is, somewhere, a place just for her, that no one has yet seen. A place to have the things once lost; a place to cry the tears once shed. A place where all masks are stripped off.

The camera clicks, the shutter whirs, and this image is captured for all eternity. Who is she?