Dim

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Orchid doesn't know where to start. To bring to an end of what she wanted to do as a complete fairy. She gazes at the scintillating colours at the vacant spaces. The colours her mother told her about. 


Since her mother’s tormentous demise, the colours appear to her as a dream, with faces. Strangely familiar faces. She tries to touch them, and they evanesce. In the colours her mother told her about.


The handprints grow less animated, waiting in anticipation for their owners. In the colours her mother told her about.


So does Orchid’s nearly dim purple heart. 
I'm 25 and awkward. Dreaming big so if it breaks, the pieces are in thousands.

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