Sometimes, her mind chases the sound of the fat thunder in the night. Her heart is wobbly because her mother’s sick. The mother paces the floor, mumbles-mumbles-mumbles. She runs out in the street, yelling in her scraggly nightgown, frosted hair, and chapped lips with a fierce mind that cannot be contained. That’s when the child sees the lightning outside the window and it reminds her of the fairies, the beautiful ones she’s seen in books, the ones that brighten and paint the sky. It feels like joy.
But fairies have magic, don’t they? She closes her eyes and wishes for it, a perfect one with flowy, golden hair, a pleasant smile. She wished and wished and wished for anything, something more.
The years passed, it seemed, well, the girl was under a deep, dreamlike spell until words, the words began to shake her, and the language fell everywhere, all around her like snow.
And this, yes, this was the beginning, the very beginning of a story, her path to freedom.
But fairies have magic, don’t they? She closes her eyes and wishes for it, a perfect one with flowy, golden hair, a pleasant smile. She wished and wished and wished for anything, something more.
The years passed, it seemed, well, the girl was under a deep, dreamlike spell until words, the words began to shake her, and the language fell everywhere, all around her like snow.
And this, yes, this was the beginning, the very beginning of a story, her path to freedom.
