Her lips shaped the final word. She granted that mortal's wish, just as she had granted countless wishes before his. She watched the man's face twist with happiness, the anguish that had been devouring him only moments ago washed away. She looked away from the sight.
She did not share his joy, but she felt something all the same.
What is it? she had wondered the first times that feeling—foreign, unknown—slipped into her mind. After sensing it so many times, she believed she finally had a name for it, though she was not entirely sure.
She should not be feeling such a thing.
More pleas reached her ears by the dozens: desperate humans begging the heavens to hear them. The world was dying. Or at least, that was how it looked from her place in the sky. Wherever her gaze fell, she saw only chaos and death.
She fulfilled their wishes, though none of them truly changed the future awaiting them.
And then she remembered that, after a century of complete solitude, her creator was with her.
"I don't understand."
Her creator's eyes—clear and calm—rested upon her.
"What don't you understand, my child?"
Shouldn't you already know? she asked herself, bitterly.
"I've spent my entire existence granting their wishes. Day after day, I watch them revel in the happiness I give them, while I remain up here—alone, incapable of feeling what they feel." She turned to him, lifting her chin to meet his gaze. "Why? Why, if I have the power to make any wish come true, must I deny my own? Why must I watch them enjoy what I have never known but misery?"
It isn't fair, echoed in her mind—that poison filling her body with the sensation she had finally named: envy.
"That is your purpose, my child," he reminded her, his voice unchanged, as though such simple words were supposed to be enough. They had been, long ago—when she first opened her eyes and her creator entrusted her with that very mission. "You grant them their wishes, yes, and it fills them with happiness. But happiness quickly becomes an addiction of the soul."
"Then I'm poisoning them."
"You are giving them what they want." His words sounded distant, as though the wind itself could not carry them to her whole. "It is their responsibility to recognize the danger it brings. When they have nothing left to ask for. When they no longer know what to wish for in order to satisfy their insatiable souls. Only then will they understand."
THUMP.
"And why can't I have what I want? Why can't I be happy too?" she demanded. What had that sound been?
"You must remain pure, my child. Far from the corruption and the dangers that lurk for any soul within temptation's reach."
"A daughter conceived to secure the happiness of other sons and daughters you sent away. You were the one who placed it within their reach—wasn't it?" THUMP THUMP. "You created them and cast them down there, where evil exists in every shape it can take."
"Each of you stands where you must," he countered, still calm, his voice unshaken. "Each of you has the mission that belongs to you—and when the time comes, I will know well whom to reward."
"A mission, and a place, we never had the right to choose."
THUMP THUMP.
That sound…
Her hands and arms began to tremble. Her body shuddered each time the beating struck her. It rose from somewhere deep within, reaching every last corner of her being—stronger, and stronger. She was panting now. Breathing clumsily through mouth and nose, as if swallowing and exhaling at the same time.
When had her heart begun to beat?
Her creator observed every reaction—every tremor and movement of her body—yet offered no comment. His lips pressed together into a thin, nearly invisible line.
"I will not waste any more time on this conversation," he decided.
He turned away and began to walk. His footsteps made no sound; his figure blurred with every step. He was leaving. He would abandon her there—alone—for another century.
THUMP THUMP.
She clenched her fists, gripping the sides of her dress. The delicate fabric served as a barrier between her nails and her flesh.
"And that's it?" she asked, releasing the breath her body could no longer hold, disappointed.
"Their happiness will end one day—but what of my misery? Will it ever end?"
"Yours is an unreal sorrow," the god replied, slowing his pace but not stopping. "The fruit of a thought that never should have been inside you. In time, it will pass."
"A fruit you gave me, didn't you?" she accused, her eyes as bright as the sky, fixed on him. THUMP THUMP. "Or are you not my creator—the one who shaped my body and mind with his own hands?"
"Your body, and a mission I entrusted to you," he snapped, sterner now. His voice sounded tense—hurried. "And you will continue to devote yourself to it."
THUMP THUMP. It isn't fair. THUMP THUMP.
She turned away, and instinctively lowered her gaze.
She looked once more at the millions of faces wandering the world below. So far—and yet within her reach. So many people. So many stories, destinies, wishes.
Only one drew her attention.
THUMP THUMP.
Carefully, she raised a hand to her nose and touched something wet. When she pulled her fingers back, she saw their tips stained with a substance she had never seen spill from her.
Blood.
Her blood.
She knew she had it, like the rest—but… at what point had her so-called blue blood turned such a dark color?
Another drop blossomed. With unsteady slowness it ran down her skin, coming to rest gently upon her lip. Without thinking, she gathered it and traced its path with her tongue, swallowing it in the process.
"…"
The next drops poured from her mouth like two thin rivers, leaving her lips bathed in that color. They slid down her chin, met, and fell in droplets like the first warning of a storm. They collected on the ground, bursting against themselves with a wet sound, forming a small puddle that grew and grew—creeping deliberately toward her creator.
The blood reached the hem of her dress, staining its immaculate white, spreading quickly like an illness until the entire fabric became that same dark shade.
But she did not notice.
Her eyes could only stare—hungry—at the reflection in the pool: a creature in constant transformation.
"Father…" she whispered. "You told me many things about my body that day—but you said nothing of yours. Tell me, Father—what color is your blood? Have you ever seen it? What does it taste like?"
THUMP THUMP.
"And… if you can bleed… can you die?"
Her lips curled into a smile.
Behind her, two great wings of black feathers unfurled for the first time.
"I wish to know."