The storm only grew stronger. Walls of facets became flooded with cracks, the tumultuous gale escaped through the smallest crevice. With her arms spread wide and all her muscles hard and taunt, she broke free from the chrysalis, letting loose her new wings and that mighty storm. I thought it was over, but I was wrong. She spread her wings and sang her song. She rode upon the howl of wind until she was gone.

On these days, I’ve never felt so hollow. Recollecting the many pieces of me that were lost in past sub-lives. They were the minor characters of my novel life, the sub-plots to the whole story. On these days I was the binding that held the book together, I was not the words.

She was carmine shadows reflecting from my crimson words. Every pulse sent a velvet ripple through the shade. Every breath, a scarlet pause.

That’s what really broke me, she was better than any fantasy I could hope to imagine. I’ve spent my life creating, yet she was pristine the likes of which I could never fashion.

He sang softly, less with words and more with thought. She cradled his head, stitching together his fragmented heart.

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