She walks among you - sneakers, ponytail, phone in hand. Just another woman rushing through the crowd.
But she is loveĀ incarnate.
A mystic in disguise.
A shapeshifter crossing city squares, wrapped in the illusion of being someone completely ordinary.
Almost no one catches her black feathers, hidden under the designer coat, their silk tips brushing against her bare skin.
Or the wise eyes that see through flesh and bone, that make your spine tingle when they accidentally meet yours.
ā¾
Who glimpses the golden talons pushing through her soft fingertips, sharp as truth?
Who tastes the grandmother songs in the silver lining of every word she speaks?
Who feels herĀ timeless drumbeat pulsing with the cycles of the moon?
Who sees her true face?
ā¾
Almost no one.
Ā
Continue... āÆā²