linnea throe {d3} fin, cbd2

They look to us like we are Gods. I suppose that, in some ways, we are.

We are bred from great ancestors. Inheriting mousy hair knotted with secrets of the trade, inquisitive eyes and a hungry tongue. They helped the people like we do today; treating them, healing them, giving them much needed peace of mind in this world of bitter cruelty. Children of  the moonlight, we work through the dark and through the day, resorting to tradition because the past is beyond the future. It's serene there, we can trust it because there's a forgiving peacefulness that comes through the smog like a familiar face offering a hand.

And that was how I was led towards a dying light which projected shadows onto the wall. Devils and demons are said to be all in one's head but what if you can feel them? Our name became one laced with immorality. The mere sound of our name led to fear being struck into the hearts of our friends, and they became foes. The people we spent decades stitching together fell apart, and the loneliness that followed saw our blood boil. 

I am a soft girl, but the thought of betrayal turns me from white to red.

Our saving grace came in the form of Adelaide; the miracle girl who showed the world exactly what we were made of. Broken things became blessed things through her word, and it spread like wildfire through the villages beyond our own, flying high like caged birds taking flight for the first time. People had heard what we offered and wanted it: a chance.

So that is what we give them. We make their suns rise in the morning, but, somehow, our world stays dark like the night.