I started a new thing last night. It’s going to be shorter (stop laughing). Either a short story or a novella. I think. I love the opening, but I’m trying to decide if it is going to be a Horngate piece. It would be set in the world of, but it won’t include any of the people, except possibly Xathan or Tutresiel. It’s a female angel. Deformed. I don’t know what call to make. Sigh. Help me Obi Wan! Feel free to voice a thought.
Here’s the so far for you to peruse:
Why would the gods give her wings and make them too puny for flight? She is doomed everymore to watching her brothers and sisters soar in the diamond reach, their wings limned in the glory of the light falling from above. Ever will she be tied to the land and the seas, never to know the sweet loft of the wind, the swoop and the fall, or the curl in the stomach that follows. She will be chained among the mud-trudgers, the wave-runners, the wood-crawlers, with no purpose, no reason for being. Her wings should be cut. Let her believe she was never one of us. Let her believe she was shaped from mud, salt, and sticks, not light. It’s a mercy.
And will cutting her wings teach her a lie? Can we alter her eyes? Her bones? Her hair? Her skin? Can we alter a heart pierced by quills? She is what she is. She is what the gods have intended. Are we to question their gifts? Their wisdom? It cannot be so. It must not be so.
Never has one of us walked among them as an equal. They will forget themselves. They will forget what we are and think us weak. There will be war.
If it must be, then we will fight.
This is a mistake.
This is life.