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.… Read more

Ritual of Paint

The ritual began with paint.

Smeared across the eyes, across the lips, exaggerating the features, exaggerating the magic.

Then a nose to draw the eye: look here. Look at me. A mind-snare, but with a gentle purpose.

The rest varied: there might be hair, feather-fine and rainbow-hued. There might be shoes like flippers for land, to give the agility to fall *just* so.

But always, the paint and the nose.

Look at me.

It was a spell to fill a heart with laughter.

Another microfiction for Mastodon. Image by Ulrike Leone from Pixabay.… Read more

Wishing to the rain

It’s dark. Rain rolls and bounces through the forest canopy and chimes against the windows of their little hut.

They don their coat and hood, fill their pockets with pebbles, and trudge out into the wet.

As they walk, they whisper. Each whisper goes with a pebble: lodged in the roots of an old tree; dropped in a puddle, newly formed; buried in the dirt with muddy fingers.

Each pebble is a wish, and when lightning cracks the sky, they’ll know that one has been granted.

A microfiction for Mastodon! Even micro-er than usual. ^_^

Image by cpphotographies from Pixabay.… Read more