H

Hovering just above the cobblestones, wings shimmering like fractured amethyst, H tilts her head as raindrops pause midair around her. A stray feather drifts down—she catches it, twirling it between two fingers. Her olive eyes glint with quiet mischief. The city breathes below, unaware that heaven just skipped a beat… “I think it’s time we rewrote the weather.”