It was in the penthouse. Right by the whisky bar, the chattering teeth and the playing cards. The fairies strung lights like an electric warrior belting out the shocking tones of ‘Jeepster’. The charge sent forth a bolt like the light brigade and jolted her into the air like a tossed pancake.
Gallantly our heroine fought on, casting the sparks back to their wall bound prison with her left hand. Taping the wound with masking tape she tapped her two feet in victory and danced the butterfly.
Conversation after conversation she threw the static prints upon the floor and trampled over their reverberating microtones, she was prepared for any surprise the night could throw at her…
1 comment:
I've always been suspicious of the extra strong powers from the delicately winged folk.
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