a little tragic
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Once upon a time, a little moth was born. After emerging from the tightness and safety of his cocoon, unfurling his wings and stretching his legs in the dusk, it seemed as if the entire forest drew in a breath of wonder. Most moths were brown or grey, so they could hide among the bark of trees or the brick of houses, but this particular little moth was a deep, emerald green.
A fable about a strange little moth and a lonely little flame who loved him.
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Wednesday knew that Willow Hill's strong chains were hopeless against the power that lurked beneath Tyler's skin. She saw, touching the high iron gates, how the chains in the links broke, fell apart, releasing him into the unknown. Away from her and so relentlessly close to her, when the hidden rage would flare up.
Her hand did not tremble as she placed Tyler's palm in her own, tightening the collar on his bruised neck. Her new big pet.