She flew above the world, reveling in the wind that buffeted her. She didn’t know how, she only knew she was. The river tossed her against the rocks; her head hurt and water filled her lungs. “Hush, dear, don’t cry,” her mother soothed, stroking her hair. “Everything will be alright, you’ll see.” She buried her head in Mother’s lap, breathing the scent of lemon and fennel lingering on her clothes. The hands stroking her hair turned to claws that raked her skull and back, drawing screams of pain and betrayal from her aching throat. She ran, the breath ragged in her lungs, her muscles seizing and tripping her. She could feel the beast’s breath on her neck and fell, strength gone, waiting for its jaws to close on her throat. Her mother’s hands picked her up and she flew.
The Word Worker 