And the spider looked back at you. Her eyes, there were eight of them at least, were dark and unfathomable. But there was a sense of bitterness there, a sense that, simply because she was a spider, she wasn't wanted.
All through the night she worked. The web was designed to catch flies, yes, but she just did what she could.
And in the morning, across your window was the most amazing web. It was utterly precise, utterly perfect. The dew that was trapped in it sparkled like gems. The sun's brilliance was reflected around the room like a miracle. And you wondered why you ever threw that book :=]