Chapter Text
Us spirits can take all the shapes we want: this is an established fact. Simply, there are shapes you don’t take, because they are, well, boring. Some are boring but necessary, for example, the random steam curl during an espionage job, or a mouler to go unnoticed. But the most boring thing is taking the shape of a plant.
I’m not saying there aren’t plants of outmost respect, but I think it’s a matter of essence: plants take their energies from earth, the farthest element from us djinn; they stay there, placid, without doing that much. And, as long as I like the superiority they display towards humans, it’s always bloody boring becoming a bush. It was better, then, becoming a little mouse who could hide between the tall grass.
A gust of wind rose; the mouse’s muzzle ended up soiled with dandelion clocks.
Humans, sometimes, blew on them and made wishes; I tried to get rid of them: they were itching.
Dandelions rose up to the sky in no time, almost yearning for the sun.
I didn’t watch them, free and happy: I had work to do.