Aran
FLYING
Ethereal （adjective）： extremely delicate and light.
A warm breeze blew through my curls as I whooped aloud with joy.
Fresh grass and sweet florals filled my nose.
Crystalline wings flapped behind me as I spun higher into the air. The weight of my wings was a comforting presence that felt right, as opposed to crushing.
I was built to take to the sky.
It was my destiny.
The rising sun kissed my rosy cheeks, and morning fog gave everything a whimsical quality. Goats, sheep, and miniature ponies trotted about without a care in the world.
The sunshine was golden and hazy.
Life felt like a watercolor painting.
Bubbles of excitement jumped in my stomach as I twisted onto my back and spread my wings wide, then lazily spiraled toward the land.
Again and again, I flew toward the heavens, then turned, and drifted back down.
Flying was better than anything I could have ever imagined, and there were no words that could capture the feeling of pure euphoria.
It felt like freedom tasted.
For the first time in my life, I was completely, exquisitely, and wonderfully alive.
When my lungs strained and sweat dotted my brow, I landed gently in a soft patch of sun-warmed grass. Fog wrapped around my ankles in a caress as I walked across the rolling hills toward the stately tree I’d claimed yesterday as mine.
Its sweeping branches cast a welcoming shade.
Collapsing onto my pastel blanket, I lay on my back and marveled at the sensation of stillness after exertion. My flowy white silk pants and top were cool against my warm skin.
I closed my eyes and dug my toes into the grass.
Blood pounding through my veins, I spread my arms wide, wings fanned out beneath me as I embraced the stillness.
Tipping my head back, I swore I could feel the realm spinning.
I sighed with relief.
Ice spread across my fingertips.
Here—in a faraway countryside—I was nothing but a woman in a field with pastel ribbons in my blue curls.
A small pang of emptiness stabbed my heart.
I gasped.
Closed my eyes.
For a terrible second, I felt despair. A piece of my soul was permanently missing, and I was never going to get it back.
I struggled to inhale.
My throat seized.
I opened my eyes. Golden sunshine and the peaceful sounds of nature helped chase away the panic attack.
I pressed my hands over my heart.
Warmth strummed inside my chest as five mate bonds filled what once had been broken.
I didn’t lose a piece of my soul, I gained five new ones.
I was going to be okay.
I exhaled shakily and soaked in the rich colors of the present.
Time passed at a lazy pace. All was exactly as it was supposed to be.
“Aran!” Malum yelled angrily as he walked toward me across the hills.
He cut a fine figure, his wide shoulders and impressive thighs on display in his loose button-down shirt, tan riding pants, and knee-high boots.
It was a good look for him.
The scarlet flames on his shoulders appeared significantly less fearsome with a miniature pony whinnying and neighing as it ran beside him. It cut him off as it sprinted toward some ducks.
I laughed as he stared at the small creature with exasperation.
As he got closer, I arched my brow expectantly.
He panted like he’d been sprinting and said, “I panicked when I woke up and all the men were there—but you weren’t. I thought we went over this yesterday? It’s not safe for you to fly yet. You’re still missing a lot of feathers. We need to visit the angel realm and have you checked by a doctor.”
Endorphins made my head light, so instead of arguing, I smiled at him indulgently. “I’m fine. Also, if you recall, I fell asleep before I agreed to anything.”
He glared at me.
Flames multiplied across his shoulders.
I shrugged my shoulders. “I can feel the missing feathers when I try to fly fast, but if I go slowly and use the air currents, I’m one hundred percent in control.” I patted the space beside me on the blanket. “Have a seat and chill. The weather’s divine.”
I retracted my wings so he’d have space.
Malum stared at the pastel cloth with trepidation, then gingerly lowered himself beside me.
I yawned and draped my arm across my eyes.
I’d woken up with the overwhelming urge to fly.
“It is nice out,” Malum said gruffly.
I moved my arm and squinted at his stiff figure. “Lie back and stay a while. Why are you so rigid?”
“What do you mean?” he asked with confusion.
I yawned again. “Have you never just lain down under a tree and enjoyed the stillness of this landscape? For sun god’s sake, it’s like living in a painting.”