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Ruin
Martyr
wilowisp
In college, a dear friend of mine gifted me with a fairy that she had sculpted. Orange skinned and cocky, with a clock on his chest and a mohawk of purple feathers. He was a time fae, and a gift from one glamor-soaked mind to another. He sat on my altar for years, traveling with me from college dorm to college dorm, up north for summer stock theater, into three different apartments, a townhouse, and now to my current home.

I think it was only two years after she gave it to me that she remarked how surprised she was that I still had it. She said that so many that she had given away had already been broken, lost or forgotten. I took such a statement as a sign of my devotion to her and our friendship.

I do not know that woman any more. I don't remember the name that she gave the fae she gifted me. And this spring, an overzealous new canine in our home pulled him from my alter, and chewed him into seventeen pieces. I've held onto to those pieces, deluding myself that somehow, I will be able to put him back together. That the gesture of keeping him means that I am still devoted to a friendship that is merely history now, and no doubt skewed by memory and time.

But I cannot fix him, and I do not know that woman any more. So I resign myself to the loss, and try to deal with these feelings of failure.

I'm sorry, Susan.
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