MORNING CAME SLOWLY like it was dragging itself into the room with every reluctant inch of light. I blinked against the pale glow filtering through the curtains. The weight in my skull was immediate, heavy and throbbing, like my head had been filled with stones overnight. A groan escaped before I could stop it.
That was all it took. In an instant, the soft patter of slippers came rushing from the hallway. My bedroom door flung open, and the maids poured in as though the world had been waiting for this exact moment.
"Oh, Miss Alice, you're awake!" one cried, her voice too bright for the pain that pulsed behind my eyes.
Another was already by my side, hands fluttering nervously above my pillow like she was deciding whether to straighten it or adjust my hair. "Are you in pain, Miss?"
"I'm fine," I mumbled, though my voice didn't sound convincing—not even to me.
"You don't look fine," the first one said, already leaning in with a damp cloth. "You've been unconscious for—"
"Please," I interrupted, pulling back slightly. "I said I'm fine."
They didn't look convinced. If anything, my dismissal only made them more frantic. One fetched water while another fussed with the blanket at my legs, tucking it so tightly I thought I might lose circulation. Their hands were everywhere—cool on my forehead, brushing crumbs from the nightstand I didn't remember leaving, smoothing wrinkles in the sheets.
I let them. Arguing would take too much energy. Instead, I waited until they'd slowed their movements, until the rhythm of their fretting became predictable, almost background noise. Then, quietly, I shifted my gaze—not toward them, but toward the corners of the room.
My eyes scanned the dresser, the window sill, the high beams above the bed canopy. Nothing.
I glanced toward the armoire. The top was bare. The writing desk—empty. My gaze lingered on the curtains. For half a second, I imagined a soft rustle, the way a wing might brush against fabric. But it was just the breeze sneaking through the cracked window. Still, I kept searching, my eyes flicking quickly between shadows and shelves, my pulse climbing.
One of the maids then noticed.
"Miss Alice?" Her voice held a touch of suspicion. "What are you looking for?"
I hesitated, my fingers curling into the sheet. It would sound ridiculous. I could already imagine their faces, the polite smiles and knowing glances they'd exchange when I told them. The careful, patronizing tone they'd use to assure me I must have been dreaming. But I had to know.
I drew in a breath. "Did… did any of you see an owl by any chance?"
They froze mid-motion, glancing at each other in quick, puzzled looks. One tilted her head slightly, as if she wasn't sure she'd heard me right.
"An owl?" the one by my nightstand repeated slowly, as though testing the word in her mouth.
"Yes," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Brown, with… it has feathers that look like eyebrows. It might've been flying around here recently."
Another pause. The maid with the cloth shook her head. "No, Miss. We haven't seen any owls in the mansion."
The others nodded in quiet agreement.
Something about the certainty in their voices unsettled me. It wasn't just that they said no—it was how quickly, how completely they dismissed it. I then looked at each of them in turn, trying to read their expressions, but they were trained in that infuriating way that erased all traces of emotion.
No one was lying. At least—not in the way that showed.
A faint tightness wrapped around my chest. If they truly hadn't seen it, then where was it? Had it been taken? Or had it really been nothing more than a strange, feverish dream conjured in the haze before I blacked out?
No. No, I knew what I saw. The memory burned too brightly to be false—the flicker of its golden eyes, the way it had moved toward me, the shift from feather to cloth. That was no dream.
Before I could press them further, one of the maids set her tray down and stepped toward the door.
"I'll go inform your parents that you're awake," she said, bowing slightly. The others murmured their agreement, and within moments, the soft shuffle of slippers faded down the hall.
The room grew still again. I sank back against the pillows and let my gaze drift once more toward the window. A sliver of sky showed between the curtains, the light shifting faintly as a cloud passed overhead. Somewhere out there—if it was still alive—it had to be watching me. I could almost feel it.
For a fleeting moment, I thought about calling one maid back—if only to have someone to fill the silence—but I didn't. Instead, I sat there in the dim light, my head resting against the headboard, letting the quiet wrap around me like a thick, stifling blanket. And then, without meaning to, my mind began to wander.
Few days. That was how long I had kept the owl hidden. I remembered the first time I'd set down a bowl of water beside its trembling body, how it had tilted its head and stared at me with a strange knowing.
And those eyes? They hadn't been animal eyes—not really. There was thought in them, a sharpness, as though they were measuring me, deciding what kind of person I was. And how could I forget that voice. Not a sound made by beak or tongue, but something that resonated in my mind, like words whispered just behind my ear. The memory of that final moment came unbidden where the world was spinning, my vision was swimming, the sharp pain at my temple, and the impossible sight of its feathers twisting and folding into worn fabric. Legs where talons had been, arms where wings had stretched, yet the owl's head remained, unblinking.
I shivered. Had it really happened? Or had the blow to my head pulled me into some fevered hallucination?
The doorknob turned before I could dwell on it further. Mom swept in first, relieved. Her perfume reached me before her touch did—a delicate, familiar scent that belonged to childhood bedtime stories and warm hands brushing my hair. Without a word, she crossed the room and wrapped me in a fierce embrace, as if she could hold me together by sheer will.
"My dear," she breathed, her voice breaking in places I didn't expect. Dad followed close behind. His steps were measured, his expression composed in the way only he could manage, like a mask carved from stone. When mom finally loosened her hold, I looked from one to the other, the question already on my tongue.
"What happened to me after I passed out?" My voice was small, weaker than I wanted.
Dad stepped closer, placing a hand on the bedpost as if anchoring himself there.
"You were likely targeted by… our political enemies, Alice," he said. "I'm so sorry you got tangled in the mess."
Before I could press, Mom's tone shifted, low and deliberate. "Do you remember anything about them? The people who tried to attack you?"
I hesitated, sorting through the fragments of memory. "They wore black suits, Mom," I began slowly, picturing the way they had moved. "Their faces were kinda blank. It was like they have no expression at all. They don't even have any facial hair."
I then winced. "And their skin was—" I faltered, recalling that unsettling pallor. "Pale. Almost…" My lips formed the word before I could stop it. "…inhuman."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut. Dad looked at mom with a worried look.
I looked between them and saw something pass in their eyes. Perhaps a flicker of recognition, or fear, or both. I don't know. Dad then straightened, his jaw tightening. Mom's hand dropped from mine, her gaze drifting briefly to the floor before meeting his.
"We'll look into it," Dad said, the words clipped and decisive. "I'll have my people investigate whoever attacked you."
Mom's attention returned to me, her expression settling into that calm, practiced mask. "And from this day forward," she started. "You'll remain at home."
"What?" I asked.
"We'll arrange for private tutors. No more attending the academy. Your Dad and I already agreed to this, dear. We can't let you leave the house and get exposed to danger again."
The words landed like a blow. "What do you mean?"
"It's for your safety," she said, as if that settled it.
"My safety?" I pushed myself more upright, the ache in my head flaring. "You can't just—"
Dad's voice cut through mine like a blade. "Enough, Alice."
The command wasn't shouted. It didn't need to be. The weight of it was in the tone, the way it left no room for protest.
I stared at him, stunned, my mouth still half-open. His gaze was unwavering, the same look that had silenced senators in mid-argument.
I knew from that moment that the conversation was over.
They stood there a moment longer—Mom's eyes soft with concern, Dad's hard with resolve—before turning to leave. The sound of the door closing behind them felt final.
I sat there, fists curling in the sheets, the pulse in my ears louder than the ticking clock on the wall. They could keep me inside. They could hire guards and lock the gates. But none of that would stop the questions clawing at me. And it certainly wouldn't stop whatever those men had been.
***
That evening, I wasn't able to sleep. I don't know. Something about the stillness bothered me. Not quiet in the usual way, where the hum of distant voices and the faint clink of cutlery floated from somewhere below. No—this was a suffocating quiet, the kind that presses against your ears until you start to hear your own heartbeat.
I sat on the edge of my bed, knees drawn up, staring at my hands in the muted lamplight. Pale fingers. Neatly trimmed nails. Perfectly human. Perfectly ordinary. But I knew better.
I remembered the shimmering wall of energy bursting out from my palm, hurling a mop across the janitor's closet like it weighed nothing at all. It hadn't been a trick of the light. It hadn't been my imagination. It had been me.
The memory made my chest tighten. My hands trembled slightly, and I curled them into fists. "What's happening to me?" I whispered, the sound barely audible in my own room.
I was so caught up in that thought that at first I didn't notice the noise.
Then, a beat of wings.
My head snapped toward the source, my eyes narrowing at the window. And there he was. His brown feathers were dappled with darker streaks, and those sharp arcs above his eyes made it look like it was perpetually frowning. The moonlight spilling in from behind gave the outline of his wings a faint silver glow.
My breath caught. "It's you. You're alive," I murmured.
He perched neatly on the window's wooden frame, talons gripping as if they'd always belonged there. He didn't move to come in though, nor did he seem startled by my voice. His gaze, however, fixed on me. Slowly, I slid off the bed and took a cautious step forward.
"W-What are you?" I asked. The words came out softer than I intended, as if speaking too loudly might break whatever fragile thread held the moment together.
The owl tilted its head in that unnerving way birds do, then without warning, its body began to change.
It started in the wings. The feathers shivered, rippling like water disturbed by a pebble, then began twisting, folding in on themselves. The air around it seemed to hum, faint but steady, as if some invisible mechanism was powering this strange metamorphosis. Brown and gold plumage thinned, stretching into long strands that flattened into fabric—coarse, worn, and uneven. The sheen dulled into a drab brown vest with frayed hems, paired with simple trousers the color of soot. The transformation moved like smoke curling into a new shape, natural yet utterly alien.
The wings shrank, folding against the form until they were gone, replaced by arms—human arms—though faint traces of feathers still clung to the neck like lingering shadows of what they had been. Fingers emerged where talons once gripped, long and deft, with nails faintly curved. But the head—his head remained unchanged. An owl's face, sharp beak and all, stared back at me from atop the humanoid body. Golden eyes, unblinking, glowed faintly in the dim light.
The sight rooted me to the spot. My heart lurched into my throat, pounding hard enough to hurt. I took a stumbling step back, my spine brushing against the cool wood of my wardrobe. "No—" My voice trembled. "S-Stay… stay away from me!"
The figure froze where it stood, as if recognizing the edge of my fear. His voice, when it came, was deep and strange—not the sound of an owl, but not entirely human either. "Do not be afraid, Alice."
I tilted my head at him as he stood near me, its amber eyes fixed on me as though it had been privy to every secret thought in my head. "Again, what are you?" I whispered, my voice lilting in the sort of clipped, careful cadence my governess used to scold me for not having.
The owl blinked once, as if weighing my worth before deciding whether or not to acknowledge me. His feathers were a rich, earthen brown, but what truly caught my attention were the markings above its eyes—two sharp slants of darker plumage that looked for all the world like arched, disapproving eyebrows.
"You look frightfully judgmental, you know that?" I said, leaning forward just enough to examine him. "Like some old headmaster about to hand me a detention slip."
He gave the faintest rustle of wings, and I could swear it was on the verge of rolling its eyes. "And the way you're staring—honestly, you're as bad as the gossipy matrons at tea."
The owl tilted its head, which only deepened the absurdity of the moment. "You also have that I'm not impressed sort of face," I continued, my accent sharpening with every syllable. "Posh as a palace guard and twice as unamused. I dare say, you'd probably tell me my posture's dreadful and my manners worse."
For a long moment, the owl said nothing—of course it didn't—but the weight of that gaze pressed into me all the same. And for reasons I couldn't quite explain, I found myself straightening my back under it, as though I were in the presence of someone who, quite unfairly, outranked me.
But seconds later, he spoke. It was one thing to have an owl stand near your bedpost, watching you with unnervingly human intelligence. It was quite another for said owl to open its beak and speak—in a crisp, refined British accent that wouldn't have been out of place in a London gentlemen's club.
"Well, that was rather a close call, wasn't it?" The sound was impossibly proper—round vowels, clipped consonants, and just the faintest trace of smugness.
I stared at him, my mouth falling open. "You really do talk."
He blinked at me as though I'd just stated the obvious. "Clearly. And you listen. Which means we're off to a splendid start."
The voice was deep, yet smooth, the kind that might narrate the history of the British Empire while sipping Earl Grey. Every syllable rolled off his tongue like he'd been schooled at Oxford, and it was so utterly absurd coming from a bird that I almost laughed.
"You sound like…" I hesitated, squinting at him. "Like some highborn duke who's perpetually disappointed in everyone."
The owl straightened—or perhaps that was just my imagination. "If by that you mean well-educated and possessed of impeccable taste, then yes, I rather think so."
I couldn't help but laugh, half in disbelief, half in something dangerously close to delight. His feathers were a warm brown, his amber eyes framed by those odd eyebrow-like markings that gave him a perpetually judgmental look. And somehow, that voice—that voice—fit him perfectly.
It was ridiculous, I know. Completely ridiculous. But I had to admit, the British accent made him sound trustworthy. The kind of voice that could tell you the world was ending and you'd still be inclined to believe he had a solution tucked under his wing.
And then it hit me. My mouth went dry. "How… how do you know who I am?"
He didn't move closer, though its golden gaze never wavered. "Because I have been observing you since you saved me."
I swallowed hard, my palms damp. "Observing me? Why? What are you?"
His head tilted slightly, the motion eerily reminiscent of its bird form. "That is a question I will answer. But first, you must believe me when I say that I mean you no harm."
The words felt strange in the air, like they were meant to reassure but didn't quite fit in the space between us. I glanced toward the door, weighing whether I could run for it. But my legs felt heavy, locked in place by the sheer impossibility of what I was seeing.
"You—" My voice caught. "You were just a bird. I helped you. I fed you." My tone faltered. "And now…"
"You see my true form," it finished for me.
I shook my head in disbelief. "True form? People don't just turn into… into…" I gestured helplessly at the sight before me. "…this?!"
His eyes narrowed slightly, though not in anger—more as though it were studying my disbelief like a puzzle to solve. "And yet, here I am, Alice."
I pressed my back harder against the wardrobe, my breath uneven. My mind screamed to make sense of it—to shove it into a category that fit—but there was no box in my world for a tall, humanoid owl in a shabby vest and trousers standing in my bedroom.
"You should not be afraid," he said again, his voice steady but not unkind. "If I wanted to harm you, I would have done so long ago."
Something about that sentence made sense, though I couldn't decide if it was because it was meant as comfort or a warning.
"Anyway, it's nice to meet you, Alice. For the sake of a proper introduction, my name is Sebastian Fellini," he said, bowing.
I tore my gaze from its golden eyes and stared at the floor. "What do you want from me?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, the room was silent except for the faint hum of whatever strange energy had carried its transformation. Then he answered, simply, "I'm just here to help you from those men, Alice. A payback, perhaps. After you saved me, I feel like I'm indebted to you."
I sighed. I truly hope I'm dreaming all this.
"I mean, if it weren't for me, they would've captured you," he added, his voice carrying a strange echo, as though two tones spoke at once—one human, one distinctly avian.
"If anything, you are the reason I am still alive," he added.
I shook my head, still pressed against the wardrobe, my voice trembling. "What do you mean?"
"You freed me, Alice," he interrupted gently. "From that cruel metal trap. I know you remember that."
The memory surfaced instantly and how the cold steel teeth bit into his leg, the way he had trembled in my hands. My throat then tightened. "Yes, but that was because I thought you were just an owl."
"I was in that form," he admitted. "Because it was safer to hide that way. The men in black—those pale-faced people you saw—captured me before. They meant to take me somewhere, to do things I have seen done to others."
A shiver ran through me. "You're saying they were the ones who hunted you?"
His eyes darkened in a way that didn't require a yes. "They would have, had you not intervened. And they will not stop. Not until they have captured us all."
I blinked rapidly, trying to follow. "Us? Who is 'us'?"
For the first time, his gaze softened. "Gifted beings like me, Alice. Like you. One of many who walk this world, often unseen. Some can command the winds, some can breathe beneath the sea, some can heal wounds with a touch. And some… are hunted."
The words settled on me like frost. "Gifted?" I repeated, tasting the strangeness of it. "And you think those men are… what? Gifted hunters?"
"In a sense," Sebastian said, his beak lowering slightly as though weighed by the truth. "They are not ordinary men, though. They serve an organization with no known name, no face, but one goal—to capture those like me. To cage us. To strip us of what makes us extraordinary."
I swallowed, forcing my mind to keep up. "Why?"
His voice dropped, the tone darker now. "Power. Fear. Greed. It does not matter which. The result is the same."
My hands clenched at my sides. "And you're telling me they came after me because I helped you?"
There was a pause—too long for comfort. "No," Sebastian said finally. "I believe they came after you because you are also one of us."
The words struck me like a physical blow. I almost laughed, but it came out choked. "Me? No. I'm not… I can't… I'm just—"
"You're not 'just' anything," he said firmly, his glowing eyes catching the lamplight. "You've already felt it, right? The force within you. The power that leapt from your hand when your emotions were at their peak."
My breath caught. He knew. "That… that thing I did—"
"Was no accident," he finished for me. "It is a gift, though you do not yet understand it."
I wrapped my arms around myself. "You've been watching me?"
"Yes," Sebastian said without hesitation. "Since before the trap, before the men in black. I had to be certain."
My voice shook. "Certain of what?"
"That you were truly what I suspected—a gifted being."
The room felt smaller, the air heavier. I wanted to deny it, to push the words away, but a memory rose unbidden: the shimmering bubble of energy in the janitor's closet, the way it had flung the mop like it weighed nothing.
If that wasn't ordinary… then maybe he was right.
"Why me?" I asked quietly.
"Perhaps because your gift will matter someday," Sebastian said, "more than either of us can understand yet. But now they've marked you, Alice. They will not stop."
I felt my stomach drop. "So what do I do?"
His eyes gleamed. "I don't know. But I'm here to help. You listen to me when I tell you how to stay hidden. You trust me when I say you cannot tell your parents the truth—not yet. I don't know if they're like us, but their world might be different."
I stared at him, torn between wanting answers and wanting this entire conversation to be a dream. "And if I don't want any of this?"
Sebastian tilted his head. "It is not about what you want, Alice. It is about what you are."
The truth of it sank in, deep and unwelcome. I opened my mouth to reply—
But the faint sound of metal turning cut through the tension like a blade. The doorknob twisted.
Panic then surged in my chest. My gaze darted to Sebastian, but before I could even whisper a warning, his form shifted—feathers blurring into shadows, golden eyes winking out like candles snuffed in the dark. One blink, and he flew away.
The door creaked open, and mom stepped inside, her silk dress whispering as she moved. "Alice, dear?" Her voice was soft, concerned, unaware of the way my heart was still hammering. She then approached and sat beside me on my bed.
"Are you feeling better?" she asked.
I swallowed hard and forced my breathing to slow. "Yes… I think so."
Her eyes scanned the room as if checking for something out of place. "Good," she added. "Rest, and don't strain yourself, okay?"
I nodded, hiding the tremor in my hands beneath the blanket. She lingered for a moment longer before offering a small smile and closing the door behind her.
The second she was gone, I stared at the spot where Sebastian had been, my mind still echoing with his words: You are one of us.