Feathers in the Wind
001: Cold Snap
Wind had the potential to be beautiful, she supposed. Maybe there was someone, somewhere, who felt it caress their face, and drew the conclusion that there was something beautiful about it.
All she knew of wind was that it stung, it burned, it chapped, and it killed. Not her, no, never her. Farina felt invincible. She refused to lose to something she couldn't see.
A million spirits died when the wind kicked up in Ilia. She saw it in the gaunt cheekbones and the thin frames of her neighbors. Even her sisters could not escape it.
The heavy pine door took a lot of effort to close, but she managed it alone. She really was tired of it all—the arguing, mostly, but there were other things she was tired of, too. She decided that being hungry was at the top of her list. Nothing was worse than that.
Before she turned away, she spared one last, long look at their ramshackle house, at its sloped roof, the crooked porch rails, and the small, dirty windows. A long time ago, it had been home, but what had it become? She wasn't sure.
Sunlight streamed down from above, but it did nothing to warm her. She pulled her hood over her head and started to walk, ignoring the sting of the air as it went through her. Hours would pass before anyone noticed her absence, and by then, she and Murphy would be long gone.
Fiora, Farina, and Florina in 365 drabbles. Notes can be found for all chapters (as they are posted) at Swayingtheflame on Livejournal.