A small piece of Fate was mine. I hacked it off when her guard was down, feeling it twitch and wriggle in my bloodied claws, brutally taken just like parts of me. Fate can’t complain. Comeuppance is a bitch. She took from me, so I took from her.
Weeks ago, the world as I knew it—as everyone knew it—became a whole different planet. Other things live here, too. And I am one of them; no longer human. Ancient souls breathed right alongside me. Gargoyles, ethereal water beings, creatures thought only to live in dreams, nightmares, and Fairy tales, fought to hold their ground.
So much was gone, sent away in vaporous wisps like dew in the hot, southern sun. I mourned youthful simplicity and mortality like the loss of my right hand. That emptiness—the line of demarcation where I ended and my new life began—created phantom-limb-itch, a memory from being whole and owned by no one but me. Being a hybrid, half gargoyle and half Celtic goddess, topped teen angst, any day.
So much remained. Something in my soul needed out, was scratching and clawing at the pit deep in my chest, the place that swells with love and pride and aches like shattered bone when my heart hurts. I begged for Change to find me, sinking deeper, hitting my knees on an altar in denial and grief. Fate and Change owned me equally, but I wouldn’t stay down long. I would dance a circle, burning them both to the ground in a flame-kissed night when the thing in my soul was freed. And damn anyone—winged or not—who might stand in my way.
A small piece of Fate was mine. I hacked it off when her guard was down, feeling it twitch and wriggle in my bloodied claws, brutally taken just like parts of me. Fate can’t complain. Comeuppance is a bitch. She took from me, so I took from her.
Weeks ago, the world as I knew it—as everyone knew it—became a whole different planet. Other things live here, too. And I am one of them; no longer human. Ancient souls breathed right alongside me. Gargoyles, ethereal water beings, creatures thought only to live in dreams, nightmares, and Fairy tales, fought to hold their ground.
So much was gone, sent away in vaporous wisps like dew in the hot, southern sun. I mourned youthful simplicity and mortality like the loss of my right hand. That emptiness—the line of demarcation where I ended and my new life began—created phantom-limb-itch, a memory from being whole and owned by no one but me. Being a hybrid, half gargoyle and half Celtic goddess, topped teen angst, any day.
So much remained. Something in my soul needed out, was scratching and clawing at the pit deep in my chest, the place that swells with love and pride and aches like shattered bone when my heart hurts. I begged for Change to find me, sinking deeper, hitting my knees on an altar in denial and grief. Fate and Change owned me equally, but I wouldn’t stay down long. I would dance a circle, burning them both to the ground in a flame-kissed night when the thing in my soul was freed. And damn anyone—winged or not—who might stand in my way.