GENRE: Fantasy or possibly magic(al) realism
WORD COUNT: 102
Meab had dared me, so I had to.
In an auburn sea my footsteps cracked open midribs and sound mingled with mossy smells. Each gust drizzled my courage on the receding forest floor.
“Stay away from that cage of crape myrtle,” Grandpa waylaid us as we were leaving.
I could imagine little Meab’s back melting into Lookinglass Rock. His words knelled yet: No one’s ever come back from inside. It steals breath, you know.
As I neared the edge of the tangle of trees, my chest cinched. Are my still-wet wings enough to keep me from eternal silence in the Gnarl?
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