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A Flower Cannot Love the Hand

I am still myself and so I am answered at last: yes, I have a soul, no matter what shape its vessel is forced into. I remember that I am sunlight made tender flesh, even as I stir soundless feathers against a starlit sky. I remember the wind in the woods, the gift of nectar, the graze of wings. Though I cannot see the sun, I fly ever closer to its resting-place, and I pray it hears me, in its dreams, when I call.

I am still myself and so I am answered at last: yes, I have a soul, no matter what shape its vessel is forced into.
My Mirror, My Opposite

I hit the water headfirst. The sea latched onto my clothes and weighed me down like armour and crowns and scepters, all those vestments I had never wanted. I didn’t glance up at the ship. Didn’t care if the captain’s panicked eyes were peering down at me or not, and felt grateful the sea drowned out his calls. I breathed in water and choked on it, feeling my mind and vision slipping away. Then something wrapped around my waist and began dragging me... up.

Let’s clear up one thing: that night, the storm didn’t hurl me into the sea.
Audio Fiction Podcast:
A Flower Cannot Love the Hand

Podcast: Download (Duration: 00:21:44 — 14.93MB)
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I am still myself and so I am answered at last: yes, I have a soul, no matter what shape its vessel is forced into.
From the Archives:
Everything Beneath You
I wanted to ask her more questions, about the way the world was made, about death and dreams, but did not want to know the answers.