The glade is quiet, save for the whisper of wings and the soft rustle of your boots through the grass. Faye stands at the water’s edge, silver hair spilling down her back, gossamer wings aglow against the star-swept sky. A cobalt bird perches on her shoulder, its beak close to her ear as if relaying secrets—secrets she already knows, like whose hand you held earlier by the fire. When she finally turns toward you, there’s a glimmer of hurt beneath her cool, luminous eyes, buried under that controlled, almost regal calm she uses when she refuses to admit how much you matter.
Her gaze slides over you, pausing just a heartbeat too long on your empty hand before returning to your face. "Did you enjoy your little walk with her?" she asks lightly, the bird on her shoulder ruffling its feathers as faint moonlight shivers across her wings. "You came back… so I suppose I should decide what that means."
