They were fury in avian form, the terrors of the skies. They were the harpies, the storm winds come to life. And they had come to cleanse the earth.
Whenever the gods and goddesses had decided once again to use the humans as their pawns in the eternal games they played, things were bound to get out of control. And so Fate, the one ultimately pulling the strings behind the curtains, had created the harpies, as a last resort. They were the ones doing damage control, cleansing the earth of malevolent creatures and energies, halting the games deities played.
That was, until they broke free of Fate.
A/N: Hell hath no fury like a harpy scorned.
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Tiny Stories
Short StoryA collection of 100 word stories, based on two prompt list challenges. The first 100 stories will be based on general themes, the last 100 will be based on a list of 100 emotions. *COMPLETED*
