The Flash Friday Fiction gang are the best damn group of perverts you'll ever read.
Every Friday we write flashes of precisley100 words inspired by a given picture.
She emerged from the flowers and faced the sun. Warmth flooded her body. New, fresh, her skin welcomed the energy, embraced the power. Movement, free, chosen, no longer the whim of the breeze; she explored and tested the range and extent of her limbs. Her fingers stretched and found her hair. Through the silky flow her hands moved and met curls and petals and buds. Jewels, from her seeds, tumbled down her back.
Her lover's wish had been granted when he'd scattered her in the meadow by the light of the full moon and the morning star. She was reborn.
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