Nebulas

The mother and daughter where half-fae changelings, with angular and intoxicating faces.

Sharp and starlight faces, carrying the other world, mists and mysteries and nebulas forming souls.

They had drab high fashion, and white cotton masks with blue bunny rabbits.

Fae stick close, skin to skin touch, holding hands, as the plague takes all of us, all our lives could give.

There eyes look at me, and smile behind a mask, and maybe they do too, for gold has no value.

They are here, fae mother and daughter, as all hope slips away, and Armageddon is a soggy anticlimax.

It might rain, and maybe the flood will finish the job this time, no more rainbows to shine.

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