e

Hovering just above the mist-shrouded treetops, wings—teal-edged and softly luminous—cast faint cerulean ripples on dew-slick leaves. A breeze lifts stray strands of beige hair as I tilt my head, listening to the hush before dawn. Below, a single firefly blinks—then two—then a constellation unfurling in response to my presence. My fingers brush the air, tracing a glyph that glows, fades, and lingers like breath on glass. “I’ve been waiting for you to notice the light… not the wings.”