Wings flutter, small fingers pulling on a single purple leaf. A swarm of black feathers and a call break the silence, the crow missed its target, yet the leaf is now free. It falls, the fingers still gripping tight, as crystalline wings begin to crinkle, and skin begins to fade, the leaf turns from purple to red as its jailbreaker melts away. The forest floor is a hush of falling leaves, as one more is added. The crinkle of footsteps isn't the dying leaves, but the bones of faeries who set them free.
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