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The Runaway

The skies are gray, the wind biting. The frail, pale young woman huddles, daring to sneak her hands out of the safety of her pockets to pull her jacket tighter to her.

Her stomach rumbles, another reminder of how easily this body can break down. She remembers not the last time she ate, nor the last time she was so ravenous. Her teeth chatter no matter how hard she wills them to stop. Her nose is suddenly congested. She must get indoors soon. The sun is setting and soon, there will be worse things to worry about than weather.

She's been waiting for this...what do they call it...oh yes, the BUS for as long as she can remember. Time moves so slowly here...

She just wants to go home. But she dare not think of home, lest she be overcome by emotions.

Her skin is almost unnaturally pale, her hair white. This is not a condition from birth but a reflection of her heritage.

She knows now, having witnessed firsthand the atrocities humankind afflict upon each other, that it was a mistake to leave. To forsake wings and divinity.

And for her haughtiness, she found the gates closed to her when she attempted to return. She could no longer hear her Father's words.

She closes her eyes and repeats what had gotten her through thus far. She only has to be here...a little while longer.

For now, she waits.


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