Clementine Crow

Forged in the Fire

There was something not quite right about the window. My family thought nothing of it. When they’d been confronted with my unease over the peculiar panes, they had merely reminded me of my tendency to remember things wrong.  We all knew that I was a girl known for hyperbole and metaphors that only made sense to a madman. My vision of the world was often too fantastical to align with reality when the rose-tinted glasses of nostalgia were removed.