Flash Fiction – Flyover

 

We were flying low now getting closer to the castle. Over the horizon the sun was setting in an array of purple, red, orange and yellow brilliance. The waterfall looked dangerous, but it didn’t take away from the magnificence of the castle before me, the shape of the archways and the way the land called out to me. I’d never felt like this before, always knowing something was missing. I was home.

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