THE WHITE OWL

It was a white owl.

A great number of birds sing, but it will be rare to call owl hooting ‘singing’ as we know it. Except for this one, which was singing a human song in a language I did not understand.

Enthralled by its voice, I turned to go to it when I felt different, a change I had not noticed before. I looked at my body, and there found my answer.

All of the metal was gone, and I stood in the semi-nude, wearing nothing but a white loincloth. The joy I felt at having my body back touched only a few things I had felt before, and I touched myself, exploring all I had missed since that day that I found my curse. The warmth of my skin, a welcome change from the cold metal that I had previously owned. The tiny hair on my arms. The lean, visible muscles that stood out on my arms and legs, the curves to them aesthetically pleasing.

And my face…

The burnt half of my place was back, and I had no mask on half my face to hide my shame. It was the same with the hair on my head, now back to be
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