The darkness ever deepens. As you stumble your way through the shadows of the earth and stone, you find an alcove carved out of the wall. It is small, but large enough to fit a small statue. From a perfectly square base of porcelain, rises an expertly chiseled figure of a rabbit. Her legs are poised to pounce, her eyes wide and her ears alert. She looks forward with intention and apprehension, perhaps a hint of fear. Written on the base in carved letters, is a passage:

"Deep in the forest,
in a hole in the ground,
lives a bunny like porcelain,
in a burrow like a shroud.
The bunny is fragile,
so delicate she.
But the wolves howl their signal;
no mercy, they prey.
But the bunny is not helpless,
a weapon she bares.
Fangs like steel rustless,
a bite to ensnare.
But she dares not to use them, even to save her life.
She's been told she's the wolf, a dull nibble, a bite."

You reach out to touch the cold surface of the porcelain figure, and the shock makes you reel back. Its cold, too cold, impossibly chilled to the point of pain. She is so cold. She is all alone. Her wide eyes watch for danger, ready to pounce. A hint of fear.

A shiver goes down your spine. You leave the porcelain bunny behind, and continue on your journey.