She was forever young, in her mind, at that time.
Forever young she felt confident and bold.
The flight of hope and chance ever ready perched on her elegant horn. Flowers in her hair seemed to mimic her vibrancy, imbued with her essence they thrived with such beauty and an aroma that was in itself such a mood.
A short breadth of time lay between herself and her fated end.
How long was that stretch of time? Well how can anyone know. Only that the destination is inevitable.
Would she have long enough to start to feel the weight of that time? Would it morph and change her? Would she have long enough to fear or accept the winding path that would lead to her fated end?
Story and art by Damian Smith
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