When her wings weren't in tatters, she flew gracefully. Only wanted to live a normal life, but yet cursed to be the monster she was. The tales of harpies killing innocent people for food had some truth, but that was in the beginning, back when her people were primitive and very carnivorous. Yet times change over the centuries, yet people don't. Exchange of information, and a deal that was supposed to be made. Yet a witch held the key. "I thought that you guys were my friends." she sobbed, looking at a pile of mutilated bodies. Each one, bloodied with the shock of horror. Betrayed by a supernatural force that couldn't be trusted, dark magic practiced openly for wandering eyes to see. For that it was her eye that caught the glimpse of the forbidden art. "Oh dear, don't you cry. For that you should've known not to trust humans, for that your of your friends; I bought them with greed." The witch chuckled from somewhere in the darkness, watching waiting to get a harpy in her clutches. "I will not be held here, I will not allow you to do this to me. I only wished for a normal life, and yet monstrous body won't allow me. Why is this happening to me?" The harpy cried out in argument, but knowing it wouldn't help. Harpy feathers are known for magical properties, but so are other parts of the harpy. Witches have been known for harvesting creatures for their potions, but her friends reassured her that this witch was different. Yet she understood that they lied to her, betrayed her for simple coin that could've been made in a day by just selling a single feather. "Don't put your trust into common folk who only want money and jewels. Sickness of greed spread through the hearts of man. They wanted gold, and I promised them in return for a harpy, how lucky was it for them to know about you?" The witch chuckled. The harpy knew that witch was taunting her, trying to inflict as much torture before she decided that she had enough fun with her "little fly" The harpy wrapped herself in her wings, crying. Just hoping the end would come. Yet her death wouldn't come. Only the sounds of claws scratching into the walls, and the cackles of a witch. "How am I to ever escape."

© theillusivewriter