Slow Awakening

It started slowly, as most Awakenings do.

She would hum as she brushed her sisters hair, and sparks would fly from the brush.

She would whistle to her hounds, who would race to her side with the speed and silence of ghosts.

She would gaze across the stormy sea and scream her frustration into the wind.

Then came the song. And the feathers. And the fury.

But when she sang people to throw themselves into the crushing tides, only the cruel ever listened.

Image by Noupload from Pixabay.

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