Her old life is little more than a dream now. She belongs to the shore, to the sky and the wind.

It began with gathering feathers, day by day, weaving them into the worn fabric of her clothes. She wanted to be warm, and to forget herself, to give grief a shape and to fill the hole in her heart with something soft.

The wind heard her prayers, hair growing feathery, shoulders sprouting new growth to push through her tattered clothing. She no longer makes much sense to herself, but she does not care. She is bones wrapped in feathers. The wind soothes her. The sea speaks to her.

(Art by Dr Abbey, next by Nimue.)