The Wings I Never Asked For:
The first time I saw the sky tear open, I was sixteen.
It didn't happen during a thunderstorm or under some blood moon like the books said it would. No, it happened on a Wednesday — right after third-period Chemistry and just before lunch.
One second I was arguing with Mr. Kazim about why I failed his test, and the next, every window in the lab shattered as a blinding light exploded out of me.
Not fire.
Not magic.
Wings.
White. Glowing. Feathered wings.
The kind you only see in Sunday school paintings or anime.
I swear, for half a second, I felt the whole world hold its breath.
Then I fainted.
When I woke up, I was no longer on Earth.
I was strapped to a golden chair in the middle of what looked like an ancient courtroom built into the sky. Floating marble. No walls. Just clouds and cold judgment.
In front of me stood three beings with halos so bright I couldn't look at their faces. Angels. Real ones.
And they weren't smiling.
"She's unstable," one of them said. "The human blood corrupted the light."
"She's only half," another snapped. "But the prophecy speaks of a girl who rips the veil between Heaven and Hell…"
That's when I realized they weren't here to help me.
They were deciding whether to kill me.
"Send her to Celestia Reformatory," the third angel finally said. "If she survives the trials, she's worthy."
"And if she doesn't?" the first asked.
"She won't leave with wings."
Now, here I am.
Thrown into a sky-bound prison called an academy. Surrounded by creatures with too many wings and too few hearts. Watched like a ticking bomb.
And the worst part?
A demon boy just smirked at me like he knew me before I was born.
His name is Lucien Drayke.
And something tells me… my soul already belongs to him.
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