If only I could sprout wings, they'd be oh so beautiful. Or maybe they wouldn't. I can only wonder what they may look like, as I'll perhaps never know for certain. Would it be fur, or feathers covering the expanse of muscle and bone? Could be both, or maybe neither. I wouldn't know. Would it be agonizing, them sprouting, like the sensation of another limb growing, healing? Or maybe it'd be euphoric, like finally achieving something you'd worked for.
