Summery: A blind woman learns to see.

The Gift of Sight

Once upon a time there was–

(No? There wasn't? But I could have sworn–)

"Why do you cry?" a being asked, kneeling before a woman crying on the ground.

"I'm blind," she cries, desperate. "He blinded me."

(Fingers digging, someone's screaming, why won't it stop?)

"Blinded?" the being asked, for it could not understand. How can one not see? How can one not look at the world and see it for all it's majesty?

"Do you wish to see?" the being asked, reaching out their hands (limbs like starlight, moon-dust, the void and beyond, what might reach for that which cannot be touched and holds all that cannot be held) "I can make you see," they promised, tangling fingers in brown hair and gazing into bloody eyes. It dripped down her face, and she clawed at the sockets.

"Yes!" The woman cried. "Yes!"

"Okay."

(And the world rose up and swallowed the darkness which hid her sight)