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Will-o'-the-Wisp
The sky was grey and oppressive; much like an executioner lording over a man on death row.
The sky was grey and oppressive on the day I tried to fly.
I tried to fly, but not with wing of bone and feather.
Rather, these wings could not be seen by others.
Wings of that pale dead light. Wings of the Will-o'-the-Wisp.
Their pressence calming, their whispers soothing.
I heard those whispers as I sprinted forward to take flight.
Those words swollowed me within that void of darkness and cold.
Swollowing me, until my body shared the feeling of my soul.
Dead
