I should start at the beginning I guess. If you want to know who I am. I am a mist a waft of a forgetten fragance that brushes your memory. I am here and then I am not.
As a child I was alone. Hated by my father for being different. For being his. For being hated by the villagers. Because I am different. I am half fay. My mother loved me. Once. When she was alive. I like to think that she is watching over me. Even now. That even now she loves me.
At first my father thought I was his child. We were a happy family then, or at least content. But then... then I grew wings. Wings as black as midnight with feathers as soft as silk. My mother hid them by wrapping them to my back. I didn't understand why but I complied. But once I had my mother unwrap them at home when father was gone because the wrapping was too tight. It itched at best and ravaged at worst with blisters. The sores weeping. Unluckily my father came home early.
All I remember, or care to remember, after that was the blood. There was so much blood. I try to forget but I can't. After that mother was gone and she was never coming back. And I... I was hated. I was scarred. Mentally and physically. My father had carved my wings out of my back leaving no trace left of the black, soft feathers.
There was so much blood...
· Sun Mar 26, 2006 @ 08:55pm · 0 Comments