6:45 Am.

The sky is losing is losing its black tint of night as the sun slowly wakes and rises, turning the black expanse first a shade of blue found only in the darker depths of the ocean and then lighter like the kind of blue you feel when saddened, but not broken and then lighter still; always slow…always steady. The air is cool this morning, the silence of the wind broken in intervals by the passing of cars or passersby being too loud for such an early start.

The world is waking, a step behind the sun, and Pharah is waiting for it to come alive.

She sits in her window seat, her room located on the second floor near the front of the house, and rests her head in her folded arms over the windowsill. Hickory-brown eyes stare at the horizon to the right of her house, watching the sky there glow a warm yellow, a warning to the world of what’s to come. There are no thoughts in her head, no worries or concerns or even mindless musings; she is aware of little else than her own existence and the sunrise just moments away from happening.

The first rays of light hit the taller buildings first and Pharah reaches for her phone. The light reaches farther, spreads its warm influence lower, until finally…like a breath of life…it falls upon Pharah’s face and shakes the cold of remaining sleep from her. A smile sits on her lips and she breathes in deeply, the air tasting warmer and her lungs filling with sun-dust as the wind curves and brushes through her curly hair wrapped safely on top of her head. She lifts her phone and takes a photo of the sunrise, using a filter that placed the words “Good Morning!” underneath the sun.

A quick edit and caption later and Pharah was posting the picture to her Instagram, all of ten seconds passing before her followers, that were early risers like herself or in a different time zone altogether, were either liking the picture or commenting on it, wishing her a good morning as well. A lot of the comments were from guys that either went to her high school or the high schools in the neighboring districts close by; either way, they weren’t always…Safe for Work comments.

Pharah tended to ignore them regardless and gave most of her attention to the girls that were ten times less creepy and her good guy friends that knew how to act appropriately around a lady. A full five minutes passed as the likes and the comments continued to stream in and then she noticed that one of those hearts belonged to her best friend, a comment following it:

What psychopath wakes up with the sun on a Saturday?

The girl rolled her eyes, amusement flashing in their depths as she wrote back to the comment: You’ve asked me that question every Saturday since I met you. It’s getting tired.

Knowing what was coming next, Pharah had enough time to sit herself up and readjust her curls into a less flattened state before her phone’s Facetime started ringing, “London Bridge” flashing at the bottom of the screen. Pharah quirked a brow and lifted her phone up, accepting the call.

“TIRED?” Pharah flinched slightly at the shouted question and closed her eyes as her best friend continued. “B, did you just call me tired?”

“I don’t know, did I?” Pharah retorted, crossing one arm under her breasts to support her elbow, “Did you actually read the comment?”

“I don’t have time for that,” the other girl said, waving her hand dismissively.

“But you got time to Facetime me on your vacation and harass me?” Pharah shot back, earning a wide grin from her best friend.

“Priorities, girl. I always got time for you.”

Pharah giggled and curled into the corner of her window seat, readjusting her head scarf, “You’re the real psychopath between us, London.”

The other merely stuck her tongue out at her, a green tongue ring gleaming in the light. Pharah noticed just then that London was in a public place, people walking back and forth behind her carrying trays full of food or trays or empty plates. Every now and then, she saw someone sitting at a table behind her glance over at London, obviously distracted for a moment by who she was talking to on her phone. Pharah felt a bit self-conscious, wondering if she looked as messy as she felt after having just rolled out of bed.

“How’s your Ireland vacation?” she asked as the other girl scooped a forkful of food into her mouth, “What are you eating? What time is it, even?”

“Like 2 Pm. I think we’re about…6 or 7 hours ahead of the U.S.,” London answered, running her perfectly manicured fingers through her long, pretty braids, “And I’m eating pork back bacon and some kind of mashed potato-onion thing at a pub, I think. I forgot what it’s called, but it’s pretty good. See?”

London turned the camera back-facing to show Pharah her already half-eaten plate, zooming in and out, “Mmmm! Yummy! Yummy! YUmmy!”

Pharah laughed, falling over onto her side and stretching her arm out the window, her head resting on her upper arm, “Looks appetizing.”

“No, it does not, but it does taste good. Goes to show it’s not all about representation. Sometimes, it’s just about potatoes and back bacon.”

Both girls fell into peals of laughter, Pharah’s giggles echoing in the quiet morning. There was a sudden flutter and flap of wings before a weight settled on her hand. Jerking her head up, her eyes widened and she went perfectly still, her mouth falling open.

“Girl,” she whispered, her voice barely restraining her amazed excitement.

“What? What’s wrong with your face?” London asked.

“…A bird just landed on my hand.”

“You lying!”

“I swear.” Pharah turned the camera around so she and the little white and black bird that now rested on her wrist were on the screen.

London paused, “…You’re a fuckin’ Disney princess.”

There was a sharp gasp that Pharah heard on the other end before a hand reached over quick as lightning and flicked London in the ear. She shrieked and almost dropped her phone.

“Mooooomm! What was that for?!” she whined, rubbing her ear and almost glaring at the person to her left; almost because to actually glare at them would invite certain punishments of the publicly humiliating variety and no teenager would want that, especially in a foreign country.

“You know good and well what that was for,” a deep and calm male voice to the right said, drawing London’s eye, a pout on her pretty pink lips, “We can’t control how you talk to your friends when we’re not there, but we can sure as hell do it when you’re in front of us.”

“Mmhm. That’s right,” a soft, female voice to the left added, her tone brooking no arguments.

“Yes, Daddy. Sorry,” London mumbled, still rubbing her ear and full on glaring at Pharah as she laughed at her pain.

“Karma for calling me a psychopath,” she teased, speaking louder to address the other two at the table, “Hi, Papa Bridge! Hi, Mama Bridge!”

Yes, the family’s last name is Bridge and the parents did, indeed, name their child London for the sole purpose of calling her London Bridge. The puns started before the girl even had a chance.

From either side of London leaned said punny adults, the faces of Derrick Bridge and Ariel Bridge- an Engineer and Translator respectively- filling the camera, a smile on each of their faces as they waved at their daughter’s best friend.

“Hi, Pharah!” they greeted her, their combined silliness making London roll her eyes.

“How’s Ireland?” Pharah asked, eyeing the bird as it gently hopped a little higher on her arm.

“Uh…Green, very green,” Derrick answered, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose, a smile on his sand-paper brown face.

“And quite rich in history!” Ariel added, her dark eyes gleaming from her perfect ebony face as she said, “Today, we’re visiting Kilmainham Gaol, spelled g-a-o-l. It’s the old way of spelling jail. It was built in 1796 and decommissioned as a jail in 1924. It now stands as a museum.”

“Exciting, right?” London asked flatly, her expression anything but excited.

“It’s a shame that you couldn’t come with us,” Ariel said, ignoring her daughter as her husband lightly tugged on London’s braids, grinning at the flat ‘ow’ she mumbled, “But I know that was mostly our fault for inviting you so late. Next time you have to come with us! We’re thinking of taking a trip in the winter to some place warm, but if not, definitely next summer.”

“As long as wherever we go has really good food, I’m down,” Pharah answered, laughing when London followed it up with- And hot guys- to which her parents both shot her sharp, pointed looks that London expertly ignored.

“We need to be finishing up our lunch and heading out. The last tour is in an hour,” Derrick said, checking the time on a his watch.

“We’ll see you soon, Sweetie. Have good day and tell your aunt we said ‘hi’,” Ariel said, waving with that sweet smile of hers on her face, both parents leaning out of the frame.

“Later, Mama Bridge. Papa Bridge,” Pharah bid to them, grinning at London who flashed her a big, exaggerated cheeser, “Later, loser.”

London clicked her tongue and glared dully at her, “Whatever. I’ll talk to you later. Bye, psycho.”

The phone beeped twice and London’s face was gone, leaving Pharah in the silence of her room once more, her only companion being the little white and black bird that had yet to fly off. She set her phone down and gazed at it, slowly moving to sit up. To her amazement, it didn’t fly away from the slight jostling and instead, the little bird hopped further and further up her arm until it was settled comfortably on her shoulder, chirping.

“That’s…odd,” she murmured to herself, trying not to squirm as it seemed to inspect her, fluttering its wings some against her neck and its beak brushing her jaw, “…Maybe I am a Disney princess.”

For about 45 minutes, Pharah sat with this little animal on her shoulder, the both of them enjoying the quiet solitude of the morning, the gentle heat of the sun beginning to fill her room as the world awakened into noise on the main street, hundreds of cars passing by. A few times, the bird let her pet it, leading the teen to believe that it was probably someone’s pet that had escaped since it seemed so comfortable around people. Her new friend suddenly hopped down from her shoulder and landed on her knee, turning to regard her with his little twitchy head.

“Finally tired of me?” she asked it with a playful grin.

The bird chirped and sang a little song, going quiet for a moment longer before it hopped onto her windowsill and then flew off into the sunlight. Pharah watched it go, leaning her head back against the wall, a small smile on her face.

“That was strange,” she mused to herself, checking the time to see that it was just past 8 AM; her aunt would be getting up and making breakfast soon, “I wonder if something is going to happen today…”

She pondered this for a few minutes more, wondering what kind of sign the little bird with black and white feathers was meant to represent for her day. Pharah hadn’t the slightest idea and decided, instead of fretting over it, to just get up and get her day started to find out. She stood and went into her bathroom where she indulged in a nice, warm shower, taking the time to detangle and comb out her hair. Drying, styling and setting her hair was a bit of a process after that- the whole thing taking an additional hour to do- but when she was done and quite happy with her full, fluffy curls that gleamed silky in the light, she padded back into her bedroom just as a knock came at her door.

“Pharah, babe, you dressed?” Molly called through the door.

“Not yet. Just got out the shower,” she answered.

“Are you decent enough for me to come in?”

“Sure.”

Molly entered and looked at her niece, Pharah noting with a furrow of her brow that her aunt’s expression was…peculiar. “What happened?” the teen asked, sitting in her desk chair and absently playing with one of her looser curls.

“Nothing happened, but there is someone here to see you,” Molly answered.

Pharah blinked, her brows now quirked, “Who?”

“Lucas Xu.”

“…What?”