Prologe

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Swoosh. The wind whips through my hair and ruffles my feathers on my wings. I climb through the air, higher and higher. Then I tuck my wings in and dive. I spiral down until the tops of the trees are a few feet away. Then I unfurl my wings quickly and glide up and over the trees.

I spot the tree house where my lover and I live. He was standing in the entrance of the balcony, watching me with a smile on his face. I smile back and swoop upright to land a few feet in front of him. He walks towards me and I kiss him gently. My wings engulf him and he gently runs his fingers on my white and creamy colored feathers.

I have wings. He does not.

I took him flying once, and his eyes lit up like the sun. But he wanted to watch me fly more than he wanted to fly. I don't pretend to understand why.

Because he used to have wings too, years ago.

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