Glass Girl
Transparent, prismatic in a certain light.
Fingers trailing through those hues,
each an emotion, a thought, a dream.
It was Glass Girl, one of the few unbroken.
There are some creatures, doomed, damned,
merely for being, she was of these beings.
These creatures, travesties, the few, the fragile,
foolish in their naivety, blinded by the changing hues.
By their very nature they are mistakes,
the left turn, evolution’s wrong turns.
Those who find them, fear them, hate them.
And what can glass do but shatter?
Yet, it is the primordial drive of all things,
to remain, to survive, more rarely to thrive.
These delicate mistakes, while vulnerable,
are not without their versions of protection.
While they love the light, the shadows, and hues,
they know they are different, broken in a way.
They weave, shaping the emotions, the thoughts—
Bright, alluring the eye is drawn away, they disappear.
They hide, a camouflage of banality, cloaking—all.
All that they are: Simple whimsy, wisps of dreams.
Airy and impossible, they know they are not allowed,
yet they linger among the normal and mundane.
In moments when the world looks away, they emerge,
their light, unsullied, brilliant in a forlorned, dark place.
And in these moments, they soar, free of the mortal coil,
even as their delicate forms seem to call to the stones.
And they come, always, Stonecasters come, for it is their way.
The only way and these creatures without depth or meaning,
mock with their dreams, their idiocy of wonderment, their stories.
They are the cracks in the fabric of reality and must be shattered.
And there is one among them rumoured to possess a soul,
made of squid ink, swan song, and long forgotten stars.
The Glass Girl in her cloak of feathers bedraggled by the rain,
the Dark Radiance of the Strangeways, a Guardian now felled.
