Hey, have you heard of the Dark Fairy?

You haven’t?

Typical. 

Wings black enough to make the midnight green with envy, hated and feared. My mom never liked my obsessions with the story. She told me it was violent and sad, yet I think I saw a cruel beauty in her fate. A sick heroism only one called evil and vile can attain. 

I’ll never forget the fear in her brown eyes, so much like my own, when I said I wanted to be like the Dark Fairy. 

Mom said to never, ever, be like her. 

But isn’t it just so like children to try to grow into their idols? Even by accident. 

The Dark Fairy. 

Hated, feared, isolated, killed for the colour of her wings. 

I wonder why I idolized such a tragic story. Why, even then, I saw beauty in death.