It was a terrible sort of beauty.


Svelte is a new word, but I’m already quite fond of it. It gives me a velvety kind of feeling.

I want to apologize for the hiatus in March. I’ll be continuing to post regularly throughout April and May.

I’ll admit, this one was hard to write. I’ve been facing some writer’s block. Sigh. I’ll make it through.

I hope you enjoy. Thank you!


The Moon Fairy and the Sun Queen

Svelte (adj): Slender and elegant

Ella’s mother wore the skies in her eyes.

She floated through life with the kind of grace belonging more to the clouds than to humans.

Her feet glided across the ice in powerful, elegant strides. Weaving patterns of stardust and lace wherever she passed.

From her hair to the medal hanging around her neck, she was meant to be adorned in gold.

She left a trail of broken hearts and dreams in her wake.

And Ella was (foolishly) chasing this illusion.

Her mother carried the sun with her. People couldn’t help looking despite knowing it would blind them. In fact, perhaps they looked because they knew it would.

It was a terrible sort of beauty.

Because if her mother was the sun, then that meant everything around her was mere shadows. Until, of course, she turned her attention on them, and they were lit up for one small, splendid second.

Some people wasted their lives waiting for that second. They were foolish.

(And Ella was sick of shadows)

Sometimes, Ella craved more than she already had. She dreamed of glory. Of a place in the stars.

She was her mother’s opposite in every way. But didn’t the moon have its own kind of beauty?

If her mother was a queen, carrying the weight of a crown on her head, Ella wanted to be a fairy, set free by the wings on her back.

And fairies knew not the depths of joy or sadness or debilitating anxiety. They weren’t self-conscious. They weren’t insecure. They merely danced in immortal circles that sprung green even in the winter, as if they knew no other reality.

But then, something would always reminder of who she was, of who she was tied to by blood, and like Icarus, her wings would crumble into feathers and wax. Because they weren’t real in the first place.

In the moments spent watching her mother skate farther and farther away, Ella thought she might be able to chase that figure forever.

That was its own kind of foolishness.

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