Wings.


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1. chapter 1

I looked up. Trees were blocking out the sun, the speckled light covering my arms like snowflakes, dripping like soft soliloquies onto my skin. I was lying on the soft grass, encasing me like a coffin and i rose quickly, kneeling. I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly feeling the chill that was shivering through the forest. Where was I? My long hair tickled my back, reminding me I was still human, part human anyway. And then I fluttered my wings.

The wings I knew I would wake up with. The wings I had never really believed i would actually have.

This is the way that angels are born in the human world, the half angel-half human ones anyway, the night of the 24th of December you're taken to the forest and told to walk until you're too tired to go on any longer and then to slip into a slumber. You're not supposed to dream that night. On christmas day you'll wake up with wings, a true angel.

But I did dream last night. I had wild dreams of saviours, a man in shining white with a sword, dragons and demons screaming with fiery malice at me, a woman in a red dress with a rabbit and three girls, all in dresses, speaking as one. Telling me to stop, telling me to stop this journey before I started it and they got louder and louder until there was only one girl left standing there, crying. I had tried to go to her, comfort her, but I didn't have time. I woke up. I woke up with my wings.

They weighted me down, the feathers surprisingly heavy. I felt one of them float down over my head and land on the ground in front of me. A black feather.  I had white wings. At least I thought i did. This was what I had been told. I rose in a panic, running blindly through the forest desperate for help. I tripped, colliding into the side of a tree, hitting my head off the side. I brought my hands up to my face to cover it and felt my ring. I still had it. At least that was still real.

I stumbled through the trees in search for anything which would reflect my new form, anything which would shed light on my wings. I saw water shimmering from the corner of my eye and sprinted to it, thanking god, thanking anyone. I threw myself onto the river bank, gazing down with desperation.

They were white.

I began to cry. I had been christened. This angel, this heavenly figure was me. I was a spirit at last. Christmas day had broken and with it, I had too. 

That black feather though. Where on earth had it come from? Maybe it hadn't come from Earth. Maybe someone had sensed my dream, they knew I had dreamt last night. Maybe it was a warning. That I was different.

A black feather sent over me to symbolise what? Death, despair, disaster, deviltry?

Or maybe, defiance. 

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