Nine-year-old Mira hid her face against her doll as bombs fell around her hiding place in the basement of what once was her home. Hers had been shattered so long ago she couldn’t remember being anything other than somber and numb. Her mother hummed a lullaby under breath over sound of explosions outside – one day there were no more bombs and no more noises but those of rubble settling over a ravished town. Mira tiptoed through an abandoned street – the faerie land belonging stolen childhoods – refusing such sorrowful thoughts she planted a seed a dusty patch of ground clearing whispering “Grow!” into silent defiance.
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