Fly Away Home
I can see it. One day, when this bugger discovers books, solitary adventures, and open spaces, there won’t be anyone to draw me in a fishtail by the sea. She will be busy marching to her own tune and naming things. Out of the castle, pushing boundaries, off to open spaces. (Hopefully not with a man on a white horse.) And I won’t be the good witch with cascading stars on her fingers. I might just be a witch with a broom. Or an old hag. And I will lose my powers that can do no wrong, even forget the songs that set everything right. Except not yet. Not today.
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