I spread my wings and flew.
My fire dosed by the storm inside of me. I had a family. A small nest to call my own. A home.
And they were all taken from me. Taken by those who feared us. Despised us for what we weren’t.
They had called us a bird of evil. One that had rose from the deepest part of Tartarus. Covered in its hellish flams.
They called us monsters.
Well... I'm noticing a little bit of mixture of homophones (aloud;allowed. morning;mourning)... but overall nothing jumped out at me as terribly wrong. This felt very stream-of-conscious-y, which I guess was the point. I'd say it didn't feel like it had much of a point, but stories like this kinda don't need one.
It was nice. You get a
5279856
I will try to fix that. Thanks for the advice! And no there was no point for this story. I just felt inspired to write ne on how Celestia meet Philomena.