Tuesday, January 08, 2013

Re: Generation

The connection to Nate thinned like a vine in winter, I cursed my inability to revive it. Legs failed. I tumbled to the dirt.

Magic struck, electric. I convulsed as my body drew it up and in, autonomous, attempting to hoard the current. For the first time, I feared my potential.

I wanted more.
      My birthright.

The brand on my hip flared, shattering reverie. I was on a ley line cross, a much sought oddity. If I stayed, it would consume me. Healed, I wrenched free.

To the south, I could feel Nate. And then I couldn’t.


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