When these newly frozen charms depart, do they carry a residual fear of the greater expanse? - an image of the point where their soul was reshaped?
Do they clutch fearfully on the arm or neck as days and busy streets, and nights and lights hurl past? - when looming buildings, distorted by perspective, point to even greater heights and distances?
Do they blush in crowded rooms? - unsure and terrified of hidden meanings, or lost phrases in too many voices?
Is there some reprieve in their frozen state? - a passive, dreamlike trance, shifting from scene to scene?
Do they find solace? - a private space where their thoughts can warm, and weave molten tales?