It had been as any other day for her. She was constantly living in the motion, constantly playing the marionette while those around her would bend, twist, and guide her to their will; her posture always straight, gestures always polite and proper, never to speak unless spoken to, and her words always within short, courteous remarks. These were the rules of her world that her masters gave her—or, that's what she thought of them anyway.

It started at birth, it seemed, that she had been trained to live in such a manner. That she would be expected to never step out of term under any circumstance, for any reason at all. She was a woman, after all—a woman living a life of luxury—and as such, she had both a reputation and social outlook she had to maintain in order to keep her high position and wealth; none of it she cared for in the least.

The wealth and fame meant nothing to her, and the reputation wasn't her own. She lacked the ability to scrutinize those around her, and harbored nothing but indifference towards how others would view her. She was a bird, sitting at the bottom of a cage without any hopes of ever breaking free. Her owners never unleashed her, and every time they'd forget to be sure the door was fastened securely, she break free, finally, only to be captured once more—punished, and locked away from a wondrous world she only longed to explore.

Her parents were her captures.

So, she sat alone, in the depths of her vast room wallowing in imagination and wonder, perched on her plush sofa. Her absolute favorite book, which never left the petite stand beside her, now resided in her hands; her eyes slowly skimmed the pages, as she took in every last detail. She didn't even mind the dark stains which marked the hem of her gown, or if the beige fabric of her seat may be tarnished. She refused to change into her nightgown until her eyes could hardly stay open, and she remained wide awake, even during the mere minutes before midnight.

Her dress had been clumsily tossed in the middle of her room by the foot of her bed, which centered the wall. Her bureau had been placed against the wall just left of her bed, and just beside that stood a mirror she hardly used. She never had reason to look at herself, for the attire she would wear was never her own choice and she knew the slightest look at herself would bring nothing but disgust to the pit of her stomach.

The settee she resided in was kept at the right, pushed out from the wall upon her request, so even sitting she would be able to peer to the balcony just beyond the set of glass doors. The molding carved by the finest of hands—lilies and vines scattered across the framework—though, even that meant nothing to her.

She flipped just one more page, her lids finally beginning to droop, as sleep threatened to overtake her at any moment; but, she was persistent. She couldn't sleep—not when her dazzling, romantic lovers where about to be separated for all eternity by the cruel hands of death. A tragic story, yes, but their love and devotion for each other remains immortal; that is what she finds so uniquely beautiful. The female protagonist's life was to be taken, and then…

Her head jerked up at the sound of a crash coming within the house. Looking over her shoulder to her bedroom door, her brows furrowed as she became more alert, and ever more curious as to what could have caused such a ruckus this late into the night. It couldn't have been her parents or sister, for they all drift to sleep as such early hours, nor could it have been the maids or butlers. Then who, she wondered?

Closing her book, she placed it delicately onto the stand beside her as she stood before silently making her way to her door. Opening it slow enough as to disallow it's creaking from causing any further disturbance, and with a quick glance to either side, she confirmed that no one else had been disturbed by such sound. It seemed they would sleep well through the matter, as each of their rooms where in a separate wing opposite of where her room was set—something she was quite content with, as she was left alone with a study, a vast library, and a lone parlor which she was sure the crash had erupted from.

Gracefully she walked on the very tips of her toes towards the very room; the parlor door was open just so slightly, that when she peered in, all she could make out were the deep shadows of furniture, and light cascading from the windows. Steadily she crept the door open, wary of her steps, though her eyes stayed locked on the plush carpet at her feet. It was only when she heard the quick rustle of fabric that she looked up, startled and suddenly racked with uncertain fear, only to lay witness to the most magnificent being she had ever seen.

She blinked once—twice—only to confirm she wasn't imagining him at all. Her hands drifted to her face, the tips of her fingers kissing her lower lip, as she took in the very sight of him. His red pants, patterned with black, and accessorized with various chains. His shirt appeared to be much the same, and over it he wore a black vest that matched the very color of the night sky, and his raven hair.

What captivated her even more so, however, were his deep crimson eyes which stared back at her with such uncertainty, like herself, and the ivory wings which he wore close to his back. It was only then, after what felt like hours of staring into the others eyes, that she felt the need to approach him, though her feet remained where they were. She wanted to reach out to him, to touch his wings and feel if they were real—if he was truly there.

His body looked as though it had been paralyzed in a position that signified he'd been readying himself to leap out the very large window, that of which provided the parlor with an overflow of moonlight. He must have known he'd been spotted by human's eyes, for just then, he began to turn to face her entirely. He did not speak immediately, nor did that indecision leave his expression. She couldn't help but notice the flicker of awe in his gaze, as well. Surely she wasn't anything to gawk at… so why was he looking at her like that?

As if he could see right through her, he slowly began to smile. It was crooked and exploited the youth of his otherwise matured features. She watched as the tips of his wings stretched upward, revealing their true length rather than remaining huddled up against his spine. In this parlor, he didn't have much room to move them, but from the sudden softness of his eyes, she could only wonder if such a being was used to being cooped up in cages… and perhaps even the slightest of expansions may have been relief enough.

He was advancing in the most curious, cautious of manners. She was the one who so desperately wished to become closer, and yet, here he was, approaching her as though she were the foreign creature. She was helpless by the time a foot's distance kept them apart. He was much, much taller, now, and in order to keep the lock on their stare, she was forced to crane her neck upward. His black hair had fallen around his face, and while he seemed to have become nothing more than a silhouette against the rays of the moon, his red eyes looked as though they had inherited a glow.

She parted her lips to say something—anything—but her voice had long-since disappeared. He didn't seem to mind this, however, as that curving smile had yet to leave his mouth. She could feel herself gasp once she felt the tips of his fingers delicately brush over her brow, easing a portion of her hair behind her ear in doing so. His eyelids lowered, and there, at the skin just beneath her jaw line, did his fingers remain. She could feel herself burning up, but as for him, nothing. His touch was neither hot nor cold, it simply was.

How long had they stayed like that? It had felt like hours—no, years, and she would have kept on forever like that if the decision was hers. To her dazed dismay, he had backed away from her and back towards the window. With that very same hand, he offered her a slow wave, and an oddly childish one, at that, before finally slipping out of the window. In an instant, he was gone, yet the feel of him still raced through her nerves.

It took her only several more moments before gathering her bearings, rushing towards the window he had fled through. Placing her hands on the sill, she thrust her body forward, looking to either side and below the ivory-molded frame, in hopes of finding him there. She was still hung in astonishment at what—who—she had just witnessed, and still could not believe a second of it, even if he had stood before her—touched her—in front of her own eyes.

There wasn't a single trace of him to be found outside, stepping back as she pulled in the casement window, and allowing the drapes to fall just after. Turning around, she looked over the room taking one last glance over to see if everything remained in line. She almost missed it, but in the far corner of the room by the book shelf once stood a tall, priceless table, and on it a, just as incalculable, vase was once placed ever so daintily on display; though, now, the table lay on the floor, and the vase smashed to bits—it's shards spread before it.

Though, her mother's valuables were not what captivated her attention. It was the lone feather that had been left behind, just by the flat of the table. She felt the corner of her lips tug into a small smirk as she walked towards it, thinking of how this single feather managed to detach its self from those miraculous set of wings? Could he have startled himself from bumping into the table, and it had fell off as he jumped at the crashing noise; or did it drift away when he had tried to gather her family's treasures?

This only brought her to think of more questions about the man she was convinced she only was only dreaming about, plucking the feather from the ground. Was he naturally clumsy, or absent minded? Did he have a stoic personality, or was he more of a comedic creature? Where did he come from, and why was he here?

All of these thoughts carried through her mind as she steadily made her way back to her room, quietly closing the door behind her. Hurriedly, though, as though someone may walk in at any moment, she went to the night stand at her bed side. The feather she would keep placed in the drawer, between the pages of her diary. She looked at it one more time, before finally closing the book, hiding it from the world to see.

Finally changing into her night gown, she made herself into bed, though not a single wink of sleep would faze her. She had long since awoken, and there were maybe only four remaining hours till sun rise. Her mind was racing far too fast that she could hardly keep still, tossing and turning within her covers, even as her lids grew sore. The time was drifting by in the slowest of currents, and her impatience only grew more.

She just had to tell her sister.