We Are Worlds Apart.

We are worlds apart,

Living in a different dream,

Searching for that special other something.

 

We dance to lyrics unknown to us,

Unafraid of the eyes upon us,

We dance living forever in the moment.

 

We believe in yesterday,

And look towards the days forward,

With fingers crossed, and hope abound.

 

We sing to tunes from the star world,

Unafraid of the alien song that comes,

As though we have known it for all our lives.

 

We hope in silence,

Counting the seconds, wishing on the stars,

Believing like we have never believed before.

 

We read the words of foreignness,

Embracing in the exoticness,

Reciting poetry that we would not have before.

 

We know we are,

Somewhere safe in our fears,

Ready to face what comes right after.

 

We are worlds apart,

Dying with the same belief,

That we have lived as the ones before,

Facing our fears,

Overcoming obstacles,

Until we can say,

We are:

Satisfied, happy and,

Brimming with life.

In a Well of Darkness, I Fly.

I’m in an endless hole,

Deep dark in the darkness,

I’m terrified,

I’m terrified,

Unsure of the long days to come,

Waiting,

Watching,

As the sun peaks over the opening,

Glowing,

Bright,

Burning my sight,

And I wait,

For its hot touch,

Bright shining rays,

To touch me,

In this deep dark hole,

And it reaches towards me,

Its fingers creeping across the endless space,

Coming towards me,

Like a toddler beginning to walk,

Almost succeeding,

Almost touching…

Then fades,

Pulled back by its mother,

To walk in another direction,

Passing over my dark and endless pit of despair,

I find myself,

Living again,

In a hole growing endlessly deeper,

Dragging me down,

Eating me up,

One inch of skin at a time,

Until only my mind,

Is left sane and clear,

Hoping, waiting,

Endlessly despairing,

For the hands of the sun to reach,

Yet never reaching,

The space between us,

Endlessly growing,

Until I am no more,

Than a shadow of who I was,

A shell of someone who had too much hope,

And not enough power,

A shell waiting for that moment to shatter,

Into the dust,

From which a new bird can be born,

Glowing and bright,

Rejuvenated,

Ready to spread the long-awaited wings,

To fly towards a future,

That comes from the pain and despair of the past,

To no longer live,

In that endless hole of hopeless,

But to fly towards the future with the wings,

Of the hope from the well of the past,

From thyself, and from the soul,

Of my own expectations,

I reach out, and touch,

Those tendrils of light,

Mingle with my own,

And together I fly.

The Rainmaker.

The rainmaker is a man,

Dressed in robes and mystic clothes.

He casts his hands up into the sky,

And calls upon the storms and tides,

Drawing them with his standing presence,

Mighty,

Tall,

Proud.

The rainmaker is a woman,

Dressed in simple clothes,

And bare feet,

Covered in mud,

From dancing under the open sky,

Singing the songs of love, hope,

And all things nature,

She is wild,

Beautiful,

Like heaven on earth.

The rainmaker is a child,

Dressed in winter clothes,

Wrapped in the warmth of the snow,

Pale as the sunless child,

Looking out the window,

Making silent wishes,

Of a life unknown,

Hoping,

Waiting,

Believing.

The rainmaker is the one,

Dressed as they like,

Calling,

Singing,

Wishing,

Believing,

Hoping for a day of rain.

Quote #72

John Lennon

 

 

From John Lennon

“I believe in everything until it’s disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it’s in your mind. Who’s to say that dreams and nightmares aren’t as real as the here and now?”

The Dark Days.

 

I hate the nights,

That are lonely.

I hate the light,

That pours through my curtain.

It dazzles me,

Sparkling and beautiful,

I don’t deserve it,

I almost don’t want it.

But it holds me,

Embraces me,

Slices my heart to pieces,

Tearing for that one bit,

Where I hide my darkest thoughts.

“Wake up,”

A voice whispers,

Somewhere,

Above?

Below?

In my head?

I wake,

My lips are dry,

My throat is parched.

I can’t breathe.

The air is not there,

Not in there,

Not anywhere.

Where am I?

I wake.

There’s water around me.

Bubbling,

Forming,

Creating a space,

Where I can’t breathe.

I wake,

I’m crying.

My hands are clawing

For a person I don’t know.

Save me!

“Wake up.”

My heart pounds just a bit,

The light is receding.

Somehow,

It doesn’t burn anymore.

“Wake up”

I hear.

It’s just a voice,

Low,

Male,

Warm.

I wake again.

My head is clear.

My eyes aren’t flimy,

Aren’t blurry,

Aren’t afraid.

They’re open,

To the bright light,

To the world,

To the eyes of the guy,

Looking right at me.

It’s a straight, defiant

Gaze.

He saved me,

From the darkness

I was sinking in.

Somehow I’m not scared anymore.

Somehow, I passed through the darkness.

“How are you feeling?”

He said.

And I look at him,

He seems so normal

In this room.

It’s like his face doesn’t match his voice.

“Better.”

“Better?  That’s an improvement”

“An Improvement?”

He nods, makes a mark on his board.

“Congratulations.”

I see the sign on the wall,

It’s a scribble in my writing.

I know,

I remember now.

I’d called that feeling of sinking,

The dark days.

Because We Are Unique.

 

I think,

Difference,

Makes us special.

It means we are unique,

With different colour eyes,

And different colour hair,

Different lips shapes,

Different ears.

If we were all the same,

It would be boring,

Don’t you think?

I think,

It is better,

To love thyself,

For who we are,

And not who we can pretend to be.

Though,

There’s nothing wrong,

With pretending at all.

It’s fine to dress like everyone else,

Act like everyone,

Be one of the crowd.

It’s fine if you want to fit in,

To not be alone,

Because it’s painful,

Sometimes,

To be unique.

But still,

I think,

We are each,

One of our own,

Separate from the other,

Focussed on ourselves.

Cherish our difference,

Believe in difference,

Because we are,

Unique.

I think,

In time,

We realise that,

There’s no point being like everyone else.

When we fall in love,

And are told that we are beautiful,

We begin to cherish,

The good points that we have.

A person might be petite,

Might be tall,

Might have big eyes,

Might have small.

They might not dress flashily,

Or wear makeup,

But they smile all the time,

And are happy in general.

Does that mean that they’re unsatisfied,

With the way they look?

I think,

We are all unique.

We might care what others think,

About the way we look,

But really,

You should only care,

About how you feel.

Revel in your difference,

Accept who you are,

And dress as you will,

Because,

We,

Are,

All,

Unique,

And it’s beautiful.

The Boat.

She built a boat with her bare hands.  Every nail she hammered and every board she smoothed lovingly.  Her heart and soul was in it.  In every nook and cranny, she took great care.  Her hands turned rough and coarse.  Now, it would sit there, grand and beautiful, waiting, until the day he came home.

Different.

It was just whispers that I heard behind my back.  Everyone whispers things about me.  I’m different.  Different skin, different hair, different eyes, nose, lips.  They dislike me.  Like me.  Hate me.  Adore me.  Befriend me.  I cry.  Their words hurt.  I can’t be me anymore.  Where is me?  This person, is me.  Hate.

Burn, it burns.  Difference burns.  It swallows.  Drowns.  Consumes me.  I can’t find the opening.  I can’t find me.  Me, where is me?

Drowning.

Despair.

Self loathing.

Darkness.

Hate.

Burn.

Buried under their words of malice.  I drown.  And no one comes to save me.  No prince.  No mother. No father.  No best friend.  No friend.  No one.  I am truly alone.  And I hate it.

But only I can change my fate.

It was just a word, a phrase that pushed me forward.  I can’t believe it either.  Was it by my own willpower or was it those words said to me?

“Different?  Nah it’s cool.  You’re cool.”

I changed over the holidays and pulled myself together.  I might not be strong or powerful or pretty or cool, but if I believed in myself, acted myself, then I could totally be happy.

It took time.

But in time that hate, self loathing, pain, disappeared and in their place I found friends, family, people and things I’d begun to cherish.  It felt good.

Being different, made me special.  That’s what I believe.

I can’t hide anymore.  Because if I wasn’t myself then I would never have met all these wonderful people.

Like a Memory. ‘The Diamond of Truth’ Part Six.

Fel and her father followed the Queen as she was hurried back to the palace.  Not once did she let go of her daughter’s hand.  Not once did she show her pain.  She just kept smiling.

Fel remembered that.  She remembered how she cried while her mother had not shed a tear and just kept smiling even though she was racked in pain.  But Fel didn’t realise this until later on, during her time with Dallas.  Before that she only knew guilt.  After she realised strength.  Fel loved her mother, but never had she hated her mother more than in that moment.

This was the moment her father began to change.  Watching, her father from ten years ago approached his wife.  His face was pale and white as he looked at the twisted angles of her body.  He collapsed next to her as young Felicity was gently pried away by her governess.  When she left the room, the King took the Queen’s hand and burst into tears.

‘Lavina…’

‘My love…’ she whispered then she fainted.  The palace healers rushed in at that moment while the King’s secretary pulled him away.  The King didn’t regain his composure, instead he just cried, gushingly on the male secretary’s shoulder saying over and over again, ‘they’ll fix her.  They’ll fix her.’

Fel and her father could only watch this scene from afar.

After some time Fel left her father there, not worried that he would disrupt time and space, and went out into the garden.

In time, this garden had remained the same, blooming with only the most exotic and rare flowers that the Queen could find.  Within the sand ridden kingdom this garden was the only one of its kind to have soil like the forest-like oasis that surrounded Kyrinia.  A high white bricked wall enclosed this space with smaller and lower matching walls cutting through the garden itself.  Orange, reds, yellows and green, purples, pinks and blues littered the white walls and the green lawn creating a little hideaway wonderland.

Fel was not surprised to find her younger self there sitting in the centre, hugging a doll to her chest.  For Fel, her memories were bittersweet and painful.  She preferred not to dwell in them unless necessary.  But though she considered this moment necessary, painful and distant, it still hurt to see her own failing as a daughter.

There she was crying alone but not doing anything to save her mother.  Her father had stayed by her side, but she, Fel, had been carted out.  It was the sensible thing yet, no one saw her guilt.  No one told her, it’s not your fault.  It was always, she’s was a beautiful woman.  Your mother, she was amazing.  Your father is a good man underneath, her mother once said.  He takes care of his kingdom.  So why, mother, Fel asks herself the year she joined Dallas, why is the kingdom dying?

But her mother couldn’t tell her.  Not even the image that Fel had conjured with her magic could tell her why.  It was just as it was.  Fel was on her own.  Fel had to find her own way.

She stopped by the towering sandstone pillar and watched her younger self.  Her mother didn’t die straightway.   It had taken two years for the injuries of this particular day to kill her.  And Fel…

‘What are you doing?’  Fel turned to see a boy walking into the garden.  She didn’t remember this.  Had there been a boy present that many years ago?  Judging from the cut of the boy’s clothes he was noble.  Judging by the gold and silver running through the heavily embroidered silk, Fel saw that he was a rich noble.

Young Felicity lifted her eyes to the boy.  Drenched in tears, she could only squint.  To her this boy must have been insignificant since the next moment she dropped her head and cried once more.  Fel winced at the sight of her younger self so blatantly ignoring the boy, who was probably the son of someone importantly connected to her father.  But she could understand why.

‘Crying is for children Princess, why are you crying?’  He asked.  An unexpected reaction on both Felicity’s part.

‘Mama’s hurt,’ she said at last.

Fel pressed closer to the pillar, but not enough that she was exposed to the sun.  Who was this boy?

‘But she’s just hurt right?  The palace healers will heal her.’

He knelt down not caring that he was sullying his robes.  He was at least thirteen, or maybe fourteen years old.  ‘I wouldn’t waste my time crying.’

‘But-bu-but…’

‘It doesn’t happen to help anyone.  You’re a princess right?’   His daring turn jerked the little girl’s head up.  She stared through her blurry vision at the defiant gaze.  Fel judged by the squinty expression on the young girl’s face that she didn’t who it was, but the expression he wore startled her.

But it wasn’t startling.  If Fel wasn’t wrong, little Felicity couldn’t help but admire him.  She was in awe of this boy.  This boy who couldn’t keep his opinions to himself.

Fel turned away.  It couldn’t be, right?  This boy couldn’t be…

She’d seen that look many times.  Though on the boy it looked cute.  On the face she’d seen it on, it looked arrogant and contemptuous.  But still it was the same.

Did that mean…?

She held her breath, looking away, as the conversation continued.  The boy was trying to cheer her up.  And the girl, young as she was, allowed herself to be cheered up.  Fel heard her sadness and fear fade away even though the boy never even cracked a laugh or smiled.  It seemed, he was eternally frowning.

‘What’s your name?’  The girl asked.

‘I am…Gevrid, ma’am.’

‘Gevrid.’

‘Yes.’

Fel looked again, feeling pale.  She had forgotten this moment.  How had she forgotten?  As she watched them she felt the diamond burn on her chest and realised she had to find her father again.  All the while there was a dull ache at the back of her head and heart.

For this memory, a forgotten paragraph of her past, she would come back for it, not because she was curious but because it was like a friend and those should never be forgotten.

 

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Like a Light. ‘The Diamond of Truth’ Part Five.

When Fel woke, it took her a moment to realise where she was.  It took a little longer for her to remember what she had done let alone open her eyes.  Her chest ached and her nose was itchy with foreign matter.

She turned over.  Stupid fool!  She scolded herself.  The earth beneath her arms felt cold and unfriendly.  The twigs poked into her bare arms and tangled in her hair.  And she was pretty sure her skirt was ruined now.

But she didn’t care, as she stood and surveyed her surroundings, she felt the warmth and love of the sun and its light shining down on her beloved Kyrinia.

Down below where she and her father had landed, she saw the walled city bustling in the midday bustle.  The streets seemed to glitter with gold as the townspeople rushed from left to right over the golden sandstone roads.

This was Kyrinia ten years ago.  Twinkling in the daylight, set in the desert wasteland of Arlord, it was a sand land oasis.  This was the only place where trees from the other worlds grew, flourishing by some unknown power.  They served the kingdom and fed the people.  This was a sacred land.

On her chest the diamond burned and she clutched at it, for a moment, waiting, breathing, letting this past consume her, before letting it go once again.

‘How many years Felicity?’

She turned to face her father.  ‘Ten father.  Two years before mother passed away.’

He stood next to her, his silken robes equally tattered as hers.  ‘I do not want to see this Felicity.’

‘But I do.’

She began walking down the hill.  Her purple silk threads gathered in her hand while she rewrapped the top half.  Her hair which she had never bothered to do, curtained the nape of her neck with natural short curls.  She sighed.

After some time walking her father joined her, a little puffed, but not too shabby.  In the city they exchanged their tattered robes for a cleaner, plainer and more common set of clothes.  Her father winced as he dressed, but Fel just shrugged.  During her short time with her little adopted groups of orphan brother and sisters, she had worn such garments in all kinds of conditions.  But her father didn’t know that, and she was sure when deciding not to tell him.

As they changed though there were gasps in the crowds.  There were whispers passing down the line like a game of secret wish.  Curious she asked the first guy she saw, ‘what’s going on?’

‘It’s the queen.’  He pointed to a slender figure in the centre of the crowd.  Four scarlet figures surrounded her to protect her, but it seemed she refused to let herself be smothered.

‘Queen mother,’ she breathed taking in the strikingly beautiful woman.  She was frail but her smile lit up the world with its sincerity and kindness.  Fel moved closer unwittingly towards the mother she’d lost.  But then she stopped, behind her rose the imposing steps that lead to the palace up the top and beside her was the eight year old Felicity wearing a diamond on her chest.

Fel was captured by this strangely alluring sight.  The Queen was fearless daringly coming out to see her people taking her young daughter too.  Fel remembered this.  She remembered her mother putting the diamond around her neck.

‘Because you are the heir, and what is mine will be yours anyway, wear it for me today,’ Fel whispered.  They were the words her mother had told her once.

A hand touched her shoulder and Fel jumped only to see that it was her father, also captured by the beautiful sight in front of him.

‘Lavinia…’

She touched his hand.  She had been determined to prove to him his wrong, but she had forgotten something as well.  It didn’t matter how truthful she was, down there in the bottom of her heart was the same guilt that she shared with her father.  Together they both were afraid that day.  And somehow Fel had let the magic of the diamond bring her here.

Together they watched as the events unfolded.  Young Felicity never let go of her mother’s hand as they walked through the market.  The guards followed wary.  And the Queen always smiled.  None of them ever expected the horse to come stampeding through the crowd.  In fact, not one of them suspected it to have been a planned event.

The Queen fell first dragging her daughter with her.  Felicity cried out and the guards, though their job was to protect, they couldn’t even do anything as the horse trampled over the Queen and heir presumptive.

Fel looked away, her mother never even screamed once.

The guards attacked the horse, but it grew wilder, continually rearing up and slamming down.  The Queen who was in agony, never let Felicity know how much she was hurting, even though there was blood dripping from her mouth.  And Felicity believed her, staring deeply into her mother’s eyes.  She never looked away once, even though she was so scared.

‘Look at me,’ said the Queen, ‘Look only at me.’

Felicity just looked.  In her head she knew what was happening and knew what the blood was.  But her mother was telling her with a smile that everything was okay.  Her mother was telling her this.  This was her mother.  So everything should be fine.  And Felicity looked at her mother as the guards dragged the horse away, executing it on the spot.  Felicity never looked away once when the women and children screamed and gasped at the execution.  She just kept looking at the smiling face of her mother.

The mother who she loved with all her heart.  The mother who was the light of the dark, shining as brightly as the sun.  But she was a memory.

 

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Wind.

 

We jump from the plane and we fall.  The wind catches our clothes, pulling at the loose pants and the billowing shirt.  There is resistance, and we are jerked back, floating, just by the power of the air catching in our clothes.  And it is amazing.  But then there is no wind.  And we fall.

Ice.

English: Ice Sculpture, Natural History Museum...

English: Ice Sculpture, Natural History Museum, London SW7 One of the ice sculptures at the Natural History Museum London Ice Sculpting Festival. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

It’s cold and hard, wet when in the sun and frosty when in the shade.  It breathes mist and flourishes with its own kind.  It’s immovable, solid, and unmalleable.  And yet with my hands, I chip away at it, cutting it, slicing it, making it my own.  And with my hands, something beautiful is born.

 

The Dream Weaver.

It came to my attention this morning when I was looking through my Word document where I keep all my 55 fiction, that I had not posted this particular story yet.  Haha I was certainly surprised, but nonetheless, here it is for you!

Now, I have to make note several things first.  This image I’ve attached to it, is one I drew a while back.  This same image is on my deviantart page (click here to view).  What’s more, I also made use of a poem by Edgar Allan Poe (since he’s just awesome :p), but it probably isn’t viewable – depending on how big the image turns out, sooooo I have another link (click here to view the full poem, Dreams by Edgar Allen Poe)

The Dream Weaver (She who creates the colours and weaves of dreams)

She who creates the colours and weaves of dreams

The girl rolled about in her sleep.  Her dream tormenting her fragile soul.  A shadow descends over her, the figure’s hands wrapped in string.  She wove.  Light poured out from her hands and a thread snaked through the air to touch the girl.  The girl sighed and rolled once to cuddle her blanket.

“Dream well.”

Rainbow.

Rainbow Colorado

The rain dripped down her back gluing her shirt to her skin.  She was tired.  Her heart was sore, and her head was spinning.  All she wanted to do was lie down and let despair of failure wash over her.  But as she splashed down the rain-washed road, she saw something beautiful.   It was hope.

Flying.

The wind caught the chute on my back and dragged me up.  I felt my body jerk upward and my descent slowing.  I screamed with uncontainable joy.  “Whoooo!  Yeaaaahh!”  I sailed over grassy plains and forests, the world spinning below me making me dizzy, but I loved it.  I was beautiful, breathtaking.  I was flying!

That moment.

“Oh what should I do?  What if he comes, what if he does as me out?”  She said.  Her eyes were wide with apprehension.  Her cheeks were flushed.  Her hands trembled slightly.

“Relax.”  But no sooner had I said it, he came.  The look on his face clearly said she had nothing to worry about.

Like a Breeze. ‘The Diamond of Truth’ Part Four

“Look at me daughter,” he said.  Gravel and rough, it grated on Fel’s sense of humanity.  At least she could say she was human.

She stood up immediately and glared at her father.  “Don’t think that a pretty dress, a carriage and a pardon to me will make me forgive you.”

Gevrid stiffened beside her.  The King’s frown was magnanimously like a malevolent storm.  His seven councillors chose then to step back from the throne.

The King’s loyal subjects watched from below.  Their presence unwarranted, but still welcomed as witnesses.  It was to them that Fel would reveal the secret of the royal family.

“You took the diamond.  What else am I supposed to do?”

“Not put me in your goddamn statue garden like I’m one of them!  Because you know I’m not.  I’m not like them at all.”

“No?”  The ice on his tongue never ceased to escape Fel’s notice.  She didn’t shiver, but her hand shook.  It shook enough that she tucked it into her skirt.

Angered, Fel dared to take a step closer, closing the distance between the both of them.  Her hand shimmered in the folds of her skirt, the heat came, burning her hand and skirt, as the air stirred a breeze.

The breeze whistled around her and her father, gathering into a minute whirl of wind.  The diamond on her neck burned with truth.  Kyrinia would forgive her for her impudence.  The sky goddess held those of truth in honour, and those dishonest in disfavour.  If Fel was not honest, the diamond would not burn for her.

Her father would think he was honest.  Being the King and the mightiest power of the land, he would assume that he was the one in the right, always.  But he was not.  His land, Kyrinia, and the sky goddess for whom the land had been named after recognised the rot he represented.  Kyrinia was decaying under his rule.

Once Queen Mother had told her that the land was only as alive as its King.  That was when she had been alive and still caring for the young Felicity.  And when the King was good and kind.  That was when he didn’t have his shrine of ice statues.

She died from an unlucky fate.  It seems that she was always meant to die.  Not even the sky goddess could save her.

When she did, the King was no longer the kind of King Fel remembered.  His heart, though at first not evident to the young Fel, grew colder and harder with every passing year.  At first Fel tried to talk to her father, but he always turned her aside.  And she never understood.

So when she turned ten and met Dallas, she submerged herself in a subculture of female warriors and learned a mode of leadership that was so unlike her father’s kind of leadership.

It was brisk and kind and good and strict.  There was discipline and justice.  Fairness and presumption.  Fel fell in love with that kind of leadership and as the King’s only daughter, she was the heiress presumptive.   The only dispute was whether she was capable for such a role.

In the eyes of many, her desertion of her duties, due to her escape with Dallas and her girls, was seen as a betrayal and for a long time there was talk of appointing another heir to the throne.  But that was long before anyone realised just what kind of power the heiress presumptive held.

The King was always powerful, having been blessed by Kyrinia.  But the Queen had also been powerful too, having been a special present from another country.  She had not been blessed by Kyrinia, but she had the power of Kyrinia.  And so Felicity was supposed to be powerful as well.  And in the beginning, she was not.

Fel had been weak to begin with and thus mocked by her peers secretly.  It was mockery that could not be punished though for until Fel could find her magic, she was weaker than them, no matter how regal she pretended to be.  That was why Dallas and her girls were much admired by Fel.

But when her magic came to her, through brute measures that her father inflicted on her, to prove that she was worthy, Fel changed.  Dallas who had come the be a close friend recognised the change, but could not save her.  It was Fel who recognised in time, the twisted nature of her father.  She recognised what he’d become, and what she had become.  And if anything were proof, it would the powerful diamond that hung around her neck.  There was the evidence there in that diamond, that held so much power, there the truth blazed.

Fire, light, blazed forwards from the diamond, encasing father and her in an impenetrable bubble.  Gevrid fell back in astonishment unable to pass through the light.  Dallas and her girls surged forward, but like Gevrid were pushed back by the light.  And the King’s men.  The King’s men were separate and desperate to stand by their King.

As they fell away, the King stood, towering over his petite daughter.  And all that watched, would watch as he stepped close to the Princess, his hand outstretched.  But the moment they would remember would be the next.  They would remember the way her eyes turned back, full of determination, full of hope, and yet sad.  So very sad because she was going to right the future in which she lived, to save her father, and in the end, herself.

“I’m sorry,” she said, though those outside the circle of light could not hear, they saw.  And Gevrid, so full of anxiety, would be seen pushing towards the light, trying once again, and again, to get to the Princess.

But by then, the Princess and the King were gone.

She was like the light, bringing brightness to the world, then dimming for the darkness before returning like day and night, she would always return.

 

 

Want For Freedom.

 

She ran through the maze.  A futile journey of confusion and fear.

She slammed into the hedge wall, her head spinning, and her heart pounding.  Escape, where was the exit?  The thudding of gigantic paws and hooves that were following her rang in her ears.

She ran, only her want for freedom was her guide.

Angel of Light.

She stands abandoned, an angel of light.  She holds her body in protection.  The feathers drift away, she can’t catch them.  Angel!  Not an angel.  Her wings are bleeding black.  The darkness wants her, and she can’t hold back anymore.  It draws her.  It changes her nature.  She is an angel of light no more.

Source: N-arteest. (www.n-arteest.deviantart.com)