I own nothing.
There's wind in her hair, arms outstretched like a bird's, soaring, not flying. Then, she belongs to the rocks and the waves.
Elwing tastes blood in her mouth, and brine. She hears the crunch of breaking bones, the squelch of leaking. Shattered, she has. But Elwing was made hollow long ago, made a vessel for the light of a jewel. It's only fitting that she should shatter.
She stares up at the pale sky, uncaring, as she slides off the rocks, into the deeps.
But then, Elwing sprouts feathers and wings and she is flying away, really soaring this time.
