The Perspective of a Burden

 There was once an old woman who sneaked into the forest by moonlight to hide. The days had been growing more frantic, the questions asked of her more frequent, the intensity of those questions high; there had been little choice left her.

    It was not as though the demands on her time were anything tangible. Indeed, no one seemed to want her to do anything at all.  All that was asked was of her own well-being, of the sensitivity of her mind, as though if it were asked frequently enough, she would go mad and finally the questioners would have their excuse. For the questioners made her feel her weight, as though she were some great burden to bear until her mind slipped and flew away with the faeries.

    It was as clear as a perfect crystal that it was time to flee.

    And so she did. To the forest. Where the moonlight danced on the trees, and to look on the wood was an adventure all its own.

    Naturally, then, the faeries came and took her away when the night grew its darkest. 

    Just as she planned.

    She smiled, knowing this. For finally her questioners were no longer a burden.

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