She sat in the center, pristine and painted. The others watched her from their shared mound, lying on green grass. The sun shone through wicker branches, casting its light upon them all. The light shone brightest upon her, her cloak of red into orange into yellow burning like a flame cut loose from a fire and skittering across the woods.

That flame caught the eye of someone who was hungry. They moved towards the woods, the grass, and snatched her up, the flame dying as their fingers cracked through her cloak. It shattered into pieces, embers which fell into a pit below the woods. She watched as the cloak disintegrated, and wished to be back on the mound with the others. The others merely watched. That was all they could do as their painted, pristine friend extinguished like a flame under water.

“Thanks for the egg, Mom,” the little girl said, grinning as she grabbed her basket from the table.

“You’re welcome,” her mother said, throwing the remainder of the egg shells in the trash. “Happy Easter.”


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