Glass Spirits of the Forest

Mist rolls low through a dead forest, trees creaking like old bones. Shards of glass

glint in the soil as the morning light bleeds weakly through the fog. A soft hum trembles

in the air, like a choir underwater. Then — a faint shimmer. From between the roots,

a figure made entirely of glass stirs, light breaking across its body into thin rainbows.

It moves slowly, each step ringing out like wind chimes in a graveyard. The forest is full

of these beings, rising from the ground as if born from the earth’s fractures — silent,

fragile, hollow-eyed.