I once met Diane in a dream. I had driven through the forest down a winding dirt road; my Honda shook and stones sprayed from its fenders. The road ended by a dilapidated trailer, and I was greeted by a shriveling woman with withering hair and face. She handed me a ticket through the sliding door. A procession of distinguished rappers in pewter, high-necked pea coats proceeded into the wood, their limousine idling in the dappled afternoon sun. Preparing myself for the journey, I looked to my left and saw the taciturn goddess standing on the trunk of a fallen tree. She was painted white and shot her silver arrows into the tree line, the pluck of her bowstring reverberating between saplings and under growth. As I watched her, she stepped down from her post. Apparently her shift was over. Putting down her bow and quiver, she reached below her chin and pulled the white of her face away to reveal a young black woman.

Silent Diane is Christine Aprile and Eli Welbourne.