"Concern yourself only with what the Writer spoke before. Anger doesn't suit you, is dangerous to your kind."
"How so?" Korliss held her wings around her like some kind of shield, hiding under their gauzy embrace.
"Do you eat, Korliss? Sleep as mortals do?" the Writer asked before Bear could.
"I am capable of doing both those things."
"But do you need to do them to survive?" she persisted, crossing her arms across her chest.
"Hush, Writer," Bear gave her a warning look and stepped towards Kiana as if studying the color of her wings. "Fairies survive on goodness, light. Evil in all their forms drain their color, makes them weak. In many ways they are God's closest children, because his love is what they thrive on." He looked frankly at the fairy's face. "I understand your grief and pain. But the Writer was right in her clumsy way. You need to move on, let go of the anger. Ask what Kiana would have done. Your colors grow dim. You will die, Korliss, if you don't."
Korliss hated the Writer then for this too. She stretched out her wings, noticing for the first time the dusky blue they had become. Were these mortals right? She had always been healthy in her life. But then she had always had Kiana at her side. Had her sister's love sustained her?
She was frightened, terrified suddenly. Because she didn't want to stop being mad, wasn't ready to forgive. "This is your fault!" she cried out again to the Writer and with a heavy beat of wings, lifted herself aloft. "Your fault!"
Quest be damned, she thought angrily as she flew away. I'm going home.