A summer’s evening, two dwarfs rest on a fashionable carpet of blossoms. Between mouthfuls of warm air, and over the scrapings of mosquito bites, the conversation remains a gentle hum of polite discourse – the banality of work, the triviality of holidays, the challenges of microsomia. But behind the empty words, terrible things are hidden, and with every forced smile and every new scratch, their knifes are being sharpened.