There was a spark inside of her.
It lit up her internal world.
It traveled like lightening from mind to heart and back to mind.
She grabbed pen and paper.
Her eyes widened.
She sketched.
She pulled ink from pen to paper and laid it out like a song.
It carried her.

She ran to her cabinet and pulled drawer after drawer.
She lay the head down in the center and let the bones build themselves around it. 
She concocted it like a brew.
She pulled feathers from the wing and let barb and vein and after-feather write their own words.
Shivers of adrenaline rushed rhythmically down and over each rib and through the lengths of her arms. 
It brought her to life.
She forgot about yesterday.
All negative thoughts, and words, and fears melted off of her shoulders like wax and every tool on her bench lit up as if it were gold.
As if she had mined a diamond.
As if a collar had been removed and for the first time in her life the tension she held fell like butterflies from the sky.

She could feel the tiny hairs on her scalp pull as they rose from her excitement, in her "ah-HA" moment.
These feelings.
This world.
That concoction of stone and metal and sweat.
The boundless feeling.
That was why she existed.
That was what pulled her entire world in, filled her up, created a symphony in her hands.

Wander wild soul, born of pure aurora magic.

...and with that kind of electricity in her blood, she knew she was never meant for anything else.