Once upon a time, there was a young girl, no ordinary girl, not by any means. No, this girl had something special that no other girl she knew had. Indeed, what she had was possessed by no other girl anyone knew or had ever known. She was pretty, yes, but what does that really matter or mean? Pretty girls aren''t really hard to find. Have you ever met a man or, oftimes, a woman, without a story of ''the most beautiful woman'' they''d ever seen? But, is what they speak of
true beauty?
No, anyone who had ever been fortunate enough to have laid eyes upon this girl could agree that she was true
beauty given form, they could also agree upon exactly what it was that made her so special, so uniquely beautiful.
Her hair was long and flowing, yes, and though it seemed to glow, radiating its own heavenly
light beneath both sun and moon alike, this was not where her true beauty lay. Even her skin, soft and smooth, flawless and without even the most insignificant of blemishes was not her gift. As for her eyes, oh, her eyes! Bright and deep, hiding nothing of her spirit, for there was naught to hide, no shame, nothing of guilt or taint upon her pure, pristine soul. Those eyes shone and sparkled with a light unlike any other, no comparison, however poetic could exaggerate or even do justice to the light in those eyes, but even this was not the mark of her beauty.
Wondrous as all this seemed, every physical aspect of her form alone enough to bring even the strongest of men to his knees, her true gift, the unmistakable sign of her beauty was not in these qualities which would not, on their own, be enough to keep the strongest of men in her presence for long, for this aesthetic pleasure,
skin deep could never hold the dimmest of candles to the beauty she was renowned for.
Spread high and wide and full from her body like a shining beacon for all the world to see, were great golden wings, akin to those of an eagle but, in some indescribable way, even more so. Her wings, her mark of a before-unknown beauty, glowed so that even the radiant light of her hair seemed dull and dead by comparison, they glittered with an inner light that would have cast even the endlessness of her eyes into the shadows of doubt and, ''while her skin, smooth and untouched by the roughness of the world around her, was perfection in itself, her wings, in some unfathomable way, seemed to hold, dare I say, even more perfection.
"Impossible" I hear you say, perhaps, but everything about this girl was just that. One could not imagine her existence to be possible had they not already cast their sight upon her for themselves, and even then, questioning your own sanity or the truth of what your eyes convey might be preferable to risking so much daring to believe in such wonder. Such is the cynicism of people, finding safety in believing in nothing rather than putting any faith in beauty and miracles. Preferring the more substantial, and mundane, ''truths'' of lust, greed and possessions.
Such is the way of this race of ours and such, as we shall, in due course, find was what would spell the end of innocence.
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