Each time one of Cilla’s people fell, another feather appeared in the glass ball. One life—one feather. She had lost count early in the battle. Her heart yearned to join her siblings as they fought a nearly hopeless war to save their land. But her talent—her skill—was too precious to risk. She fled with the final wave of refugees.
How kind, how caring is Cilla. I feel her heart. How beautifully you have drawn her with your words ❤️
I love how you share your inspirations for your stories!
Oh, I love this story!