Late at night.
In the living room of No. 7 Wisteria Lane, the Crystal Stone Lamp was turned to its dimmest setting.
The dim, yellow light fell upon the worn armrest of an old sofa, revealing the rough texture of its fibers.
Ian sat on the sofa, gently stroking Gaga's small head with his palm.
The little creature was curled up on his lap, a ball of black fluff.
Its feathers shimmered with a dark silver sheen in the gloom, its wings held tightly shut.
Its unusual silver eyes were half-closed, a point of light flickering in their depths.
"Gaa..." it cooed, its voice muffled.
Ian lowered his head. "What's wrong?"
"Ian..." Gaga nuzzled its small head against his palm.
"You've gotten stronger. I can't help you anymore, gaa?"
The little creature's voice was soft and tinged with grievance. The gap between it and Ian was growing ever wider.
Ian was silent for a moment, then gently ruffled the feathers on Gaga's head.
