At night, behind my fluttering eyelids, I see myself flying through forests shadowed in sparkling mist, from my back protrudes great wings. Wings that are different every time. The dream always ends the same: suddenly I fall from my Faerie Queen throne, and I am myself again, wingless.
I have preserved the wings in the land of the living.
Watch as the twirl and spin before your eyes; that’s them dreaming of flight behind closed eyes.
For now, they are solid and stuck into their fine silver forms, stretched with glittering threads and magnificent rainbow glistening opals.
One day they will land back within the braids of their Queen, upon her wrist and wrapped around her ears; then they will fly again.
Do i look like a Faerie Queen?