I woke up in my box and gazed at the sun directly above me. It used to be rosy, like carnation blossoms along the street. But now, it was the darkest of magenta. It's halo, a bloody red, and the once pastel shades of pink and yellow skies are tinged with gray and black watercolors.
I curled up and ogled at the panorama before me. Everything was bleak. The Fountain of Inspiration has dried up and the once rolling greenery of words were replaced by blank pages of oblivion.
I reached out my hand. I wanted to escape my box. Somehow, the safety that it used to grant me made me uncomfortable. It wasn't my sanctuary anymore-I knew that. I knew that somehow, when my wings become better I'd have to fly away from here. I looked at my wings, they're still small and frail and I wondered why I wanted to take off. I stepped out of my box to look at the other side of the hills where the Story fairies lived. They say that one can only stay there if their wings were big and sturdy enough.
I tiptoed, hoping I won't wake anybody. Almost there, I thought.
Then my chains pulled me. The darkness, billowing like wolves about to capture their prey, was coming. I tried to run but the octopus coiled it's tentacles on my feet. I stumbled at my first attempt. It is pulling me. More forcefully now, that even if I buried my fingers in the sand, it would be useless.
It's coming. Closer and closer. I tried to untangle the strands but before I could, I was enveloped in random darkness. I remember seeing a string of light and then nothing. The wolves have taken me.