Gravity is for the Grounded

They tell you love brings your feet back to earth. They lie.

I hovered twelve stories above a sea of yellow cabs, the only thing tethering me to this concrete canyon was the sheer audacity of my own desire. The ribbons trailing from my waist weren't magic; they were just silk and denial, painting pastel streaks through the smog while the city sputtered below in its mundane agony.

Gravity is a cruel master, but gravity can't touch you when your heart beats faster than time itself. I looked down at their frantic eyes—their 'hurry up' lives—and smiled coldly. Real power isn't wearing glass slippers; it's realizing that the whole world below me was just waiting to be stepped on.

Editor: Cinderella's Coach