As she watched the clouds begin to spread throughout the sky, she pictured the reactions of the villagers. “What can it be?” “Where is it coming from?” “I have never seen this color before!” “It’s headed this way!”

As her mind continued to wander, she recalled how some of them had spoken to her and her thoughts turned dark. “You’re nothing but a weirdo.” “Get away from us.” “Don’t ever come around here again.” “Why don’t you go back where you belong?”

She gritted her teeth under her hood. How dare they. So she wasn’t like the rest of them - so what? She was a child of the Mage Queen, a princess in fact, and the villagers didn’t pay her any respect or even let her play with their own kids. Her face was turning red with the memory of it, she could tell. So she turned her thoughts to her last conversation with the Sacred Elders, keepers of the deepest lore of her people.

“Are you sure about this, Princess?” A grey-bearded face spoke to her with apprehension.

“I have never been more sure about anything.”

Another of the Sacred Elders spoke, voice so old it came out in a croak. “The Storm is simply another name for… chaos. It is not something that can be controlled. And once it has been turned loose, there is no force on Earth that can direct it. It changes everything it touches - physically, mentally, spiritually. You must understand what you intend to turn loose.”

The Princess was tired of caution. “I will make them pay. And this is the way I will do it. And you will reveal to me the secrets of The Storm.” She saw the fear in their eyes and knew that she was making the right choice.

Now the twisted mass of cloud, in a color no living person had ever seen before, had spread clear across the valley and began to flow through the simple cottages of the village. She heard raised voices, then shouts, then screams. It sounded like pandemonium. Feet running, things breaking. The wind began to turn and the cloud slowly began to ascend the hill toward where the Princess stood.

Voices carried across the valley, some louder than others. She picked out snatches of what they said. “My hands… where are my hands?” “You’re not my mother. What are you?” “The dog! Watch out for the dog, it’s changed into -“ “Help me, help me, I’m - “

As she watched the cloud roll closer, the trees and grass began to twist and bend and change color. A series of repetitive, short sounds came from her as her chest heaved. Even if there had been someone to hear it, no one could have said whether they heard malicious laughter or sobs of deepest remorse.