Microfiction: Despair

She never got over it. The despair dug into her bones. There was no funeral to cry at, no graveside to mourn by. She carried it silently, from the moment she ordered the massacre. She was the only one who mourned the death of the person she used to be.

Microfiction: Wings

Her fascination for the sky was endless. She’d spent most of her youth in forests, around ponds or waterfalls. She was a faerie of the earth. It was only when her wings withered, lying brown and limp at her sides, that her heart filled with blue.

(Written for the Whistpr prompt on Twitter)